The Architect's Apprentice
by TheCuriousPuppetmaster
Summary: When Amy Pond is taken captive by human traffickers while vacationing in Space Florida with her boys, they must go to rescue her disguised as potential buyers. However, they soon discover Amy isn't the only captive whose worth is beyond measure. AU for everything after Series 6.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Amy should have realized something was up with The Doctor as soon as he mentioned Space Florida.

It was a great place, mind: a human-made planet with a synthetic sun and sand as soft as flour. However, it was also, by The Doctor's standards, extremely dull. There weren't any bad guys to foil, no mystery to uncover, no oppressed people that needed liberating by a handsome stranger.

Everyone was just splashing around and having a good time.

The last time he had taken her here was after Rory had been erased from existence.

"Everything okay?" her husband asked, treading water beside her.

"I don't know," she replied, honestly.

Rory followed her gaze to the ancient Time Lord sitting on a towel underneath a large umbrella. He was completely clothed in his dress shirt, suspenders, and bowtie. Even his boots were still on.

 _How is he not broiling in that thing?_ Amy wondered.

The Doctor stared off into the horizon, a blank expression on his face.

"What?" Rory asked. "The Doctor?"

"Hasn't he been acting strange to you? I mean, really properly weird?"

"We _are_ talking about the same man that equates fish fingers and custard with culinary masterpieces, right?"

Amy splashed her husband.

"You know what I mean," she retorted. "Look at him, he's being all… quiet."

Rory shrugged. "He's bored, I suspect. No one is chasing us around or trying to kill us. Frankly, I'm enjoying it."

"Why take us here, though?"

"Because we wanted to relax?" Rory suggested. "We haven't had a vacation like this in nearly a year."

A pang went though Amy's chest. She hadn't seen The Doctor in nearly _twelve months_. The gaps between his visits were growing. Sometimes it was easy for her to forget. She and Rory had been so busy adapting to their new lives— their real _adult_ lives— to think about the universe and the precarious nature of it. She had been looking for new jobs online when she heard the TARDIS noise in the backyard. The Doctor sprang out excitedly as if no time at all had passed, asking it they wanted to go to the beach planet.

"Where have you been?" she'd demanded.

The Doctor rattled off a list of adventures at super sonic speed, patting her on the head in his frustratingly patronizing way. Even then she could tell something was wrong. While on the surface, he seemed as energetic as ever, she noticed the bags under his eyes.

Rory obviously couldn't see an issue, but he wasn't as versed in Doctor-ese as she was.

She knew her imaginary friend back to front and she could tell he was hiding something from her.

"Try not to worry," Rory told her in his 'nurse' voice. "Let's just have some fun before someone starts screaming."

Amy smiled in spite of her worries. "Fancy some surfing, Mr. Pond?"

"Only if you do," he smiled gamely.

"Race you."

She sliced through the water like a shot, Rory tailing behind.

Amy pushed her spindly arms to work harder, recalling her friend Madeline's birthday party in primary school where she beat all the boys in a sack race. She had shoved a few of them out of the way and may have started before the call "Go!" but she was still declared the best athlete in Leadworth of her year behind Brice McAdams, kicker on the football team.

Soon, she couldn't even feel Rory's splashes from behind her and she smirked in triumph.

Her self-congratulations were short lived as a giant wave struck her from behind, sending her sprawling under the water in a tangle of limbs.

To her dismay, she couldn't tell which way was up or down. A strong current shoved her again and she rolled this way and that. The pressure weighted heavily on her lungs and panic sent her heart beating in a frenzy. She was stuck in an undertow.

Rory. Where was Rory?

She couldn't see anything in the chaos.

Air, she needed air.

Her surroundings were uncharacterized. All that lay before her was an endless stretch of gray. Lethargically, she hovered in the water. Her head was hurting and she could hear her heart slowing.

Tired. So tired.

Her vision started to cloud.

About to lose consciousness, she could make out a large black fish with red eyes gleaming from either side of its face. They flashed with the intensity of an exploding star.

She knew nothing more.

* * *

Clarice scanned each item as they slowly rolled past her on the short conveyor belt.

"Did you find everything okay?" she asked the customer, absent-mindedly.

"You already asked me that," the middle aged woman retorted. Her toddler shrieked from the cart, his face blushing red with frustration.

"Oh," Clarice said, awkwardly. "Sorry. Your total is $75.23."

The woman fed her card into the chip reader. "You really need to sweep those aisles. My feet were sticking to the floor."

"I'll tell them that." Although she knew she wouldn't. She peered at the clock on the computer monitor. It was 10:12, over ten minutes past closing. She wasn't even supposed to stay this long. Her shift ended at 8:00 p.m. Nevertheless, a lot of people had called in "sick" unexpectedly and her manager had told her to stay on for an extra two hours. This woman was the last one out.

"This has to be the messiest store I've been in. Have you seen the one on 2nd? Not a speck of dust."

Clarice would have been annoyed if it weren't for the fact that she was reminded by customers at least thirty separate times a day that her store was infinitely inferior to the one on 2nd Street. She'd driven there once out of curiosity and she had to admit they were correct. The other Goldman's served coffee that didn't taste like motor oil and the employees were always smiling. Clarice wasn't sure if it was because they were genuinely happy or if insanity had finally set in.

She handed the woman her purchases, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

The woman's practically nonexistent eyebrows rose to her hairline and her fists cinched at her fleshy waist. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you?"

"No," Clarice's smile fell, "no, I—"

"I'd like to speak with your manager, please."

Her son let out another loud wail that nearly caused Clarice's eardrums to explode.

"She's stepped out, sorry." Kay was likely out back having a smoke with Darren. It was her job to make sure everyone was in line, but most of the time she goofed around with the older employees.

The woman left in a huff, her noisy child in tow who screamed and sobbed as she wheeled him out. Naturally, she left the cart in the parking lot instead of in the carousel where it belonged.

When her white SUV pulled away from the lot at last, Clarice released a long-suffering sigh, allowing her head to connect with the register.

Done.

However, her relief didn't last long. She would have to open tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. She would have to do this over and over and over and over again.

The retail worker screwed her eyes shut, trying to fight off the wave of despair.

Her mother's voice came to her unbidden. _This is what you get for getting a General Education degree. You should have been an RN or a nutritionist._

Oh, well. That didn't matter. All that mattered now was that she made her escape before the manager returned. She'd try to convince her to help clean up and she would be trapped here until at least 12:30.

For once she was grateful for her scrawny body as it made it easier for her to slink around without making any noise. She slipped into the break room, put on her hoodie, gathered her meager possessions, and went out the front.

Kay might get onto her tomorrow for leaving the front unlocked, but right now she didn't care. She had to get out. The fresh air smelled amazing although the wind was biting and cold.

She closed her eyes, drinking it in. _I'm free._

She looked at her missed messages, but the only one she had received was one from John, asking her to pick him up a Monster on the way home.

 _Also, you left you book on the couch again._

Clarice rolled her eyes. He was so anal about her leaving her possessions in the living room. Then again, she couldn't complain too much. He had taken her in on relatively short notice. She just had to put up with his eccentricities until she had enough money saved up to stand on her own. However long that took.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to drown out the negative thoughts with options of what to get for dinner. Visions of greasy fast food danced tantalizingly in her mind.

Her car loomed in the distance, the light from the street lamp pouring over it like a beam from heaven.

 _Mrreeeeeew._

Clarice halted at the strange noise. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she involuntarily clutched her purse closer to her chest.

 _Mreeeeeeew_

The sound was plaintive and low. A cat.

And from the sound of it, the animal was in agony. It let out another mournful howl from the bushes, about fifteen feet away.

"Oh," Clarice murmured sympathetically. "It's okay." She walked towards the noise slowly as not to startle the creature.

Carefully, she stepped over the nearest median and found a black cat, lying on its side mewling. Had it been hit by a careless customer in a hurry to get home? Was it pregnant and giving birth? Was it just sick?

"It's okay," she whispered, taking a knee beside it. "It's okay, I'll take care of you."

She reached out to pet it, but hesitated. If it was hurt, it might lash out. She peered around to see if there was anyone who might help her, but the only sound outside of the wind was the cat.

When she looked back at the female, what she saw chilled her blood.

The cat had red eyes that gleamed at her like fresh blood.

It let out one more cry before a blinding light flashed around her and she lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hey, guys. sorry for the long wait. I've been having a difficult time navigating the new and exotic land of since I'm still new to this whole thing. *shrugs* Hope you guys enjoy the newest installment. Special thanks to all the followers!

Chapter Two

In a burst, Amy woke, vomiting sea water onto the cold metallic floor. Her body convulsed as the mix of bile and ocean left her lips and the freezing temperatures swathed her like a blanket.

Why was she cold? This was Space Florida. Space Florida was never cold.

Frantically, she looked about to find a man towering over her, arms folded in satisfaction. His hair was shaved to the scalp and his hard eyes glinted at her mockingly. His outfit was tight-fitting and all black with a single breast plate over his left pectoral. A large rifle was strapped to his back.

"Told you she was alive," he said.

She turned to see another man standing behind her. He appeared to be much younger than the other and wore all black as well, only with shoulder and armguards instead of a breast plate. His sizable weapon was drawn and pointed directly at her chest.

Amy shrank back instinctively, goose bumps rising on her arms and legs.

"Who are you?" she demanded, desperate to keep her voice from wavering. "Just who the hell are you?"

The first man gave the second a cocky grin. "What do you think? 30,000 credits?"

"30,000?" the younger one asked, incredulously. "She's all skin and bones."

The eldest gave him a look. "Not all blokes like 'em thick, Flash."

"I'm guessing nearer 20,000 cred," Flash said, appraising her. "Maybe 28,000 if we're lucky."

"Yeah, well, we'll let the scanner decide, shall we?"

Amy's heart pounded as her fear turned into bitter anger.

"My name is Amy Pond!" she shouted. "And you better tell me what the hell is going on!"

The man laughed heartily. "Or you'll what? Splash us?" To Flash he said, "Put her in the hold with the other catches."

As he was walking away, Amy jumped to her feet and sprang at him. Unfortunately, Flash's reflexes lived up to his name and he ensnared her before she could get her hands on him.

"My friend is The Doctor! He'll—"

A static noise sizzled through the air and Amy's eyes rolled back in her head as her body went limp in Flash's arms.

"How many did we catch today?"

Flash indicated to Amy with his head. "She'll be the one hundred and twelfth."

Gil nodded appreciatively. "Not a bad haul. Especially for a Wednesday. Fetch the Edos girls. Tell 'em to dry her off and give her some clothes from the reject pile."

Flash gave a nod of affirmation before murmuring Edos into his communicator.

Within a moment or so the pair, a woman and a girl, both cloaked in purple robes lumbered inside, their cowls concealing their faces. Flash took a few cautious steps back and allowed the women to converge on the unconscious girl. They lifted her with ease, exiting the room as quietly as they had come.

Gil smiled to himself. Another day without incident.

* * *

Doctor had explained to both Amy and Rory prior to landing that Space Florida had been created by a race of blue aliens called the Azurians who controlled everything on the planet from a satellite. Nobody drowned on Space Florida. It was the planet's motto. Because they had eyes on all things at all times, they could always keep tabs on what was happening and prevent any tragedy that was wont to happen on a beach.

However, things had obviously escaped their control and it was driving them mental.

Amy had gotten sucked into an undertow and had not emerged.

Rory went hoarse shouting her name and diving in and out of the surf in desperation. The minutes ticked by but her body was never found.

The Doctor dragged him into the TARDIS and from there had transported them to the station without so much as a word in response.

"Each moment she's under there her brain is losing oxygen," Rory said.

All around them was a frenzy of activity, humans talking on wireless phones, Azurians chatting animatedly amongst themselves and entering data, all of them cloaked in darkness save for the blinking lights and screens from their computers and the large monitor that stood at the opposite end of the room.

"We know, sir," one of the blue aliens replied with a thick and undefinable accent. "We're doing all we can but..."

"But what?" Rory demanded.

"But we can't find anything, sir. It's not as if she has drowned. It seems as though she has…vanished."

"She was right beside me, she—"

"Let me have a go," The Doctor interrupted, planting himself at a control seat.

The blue female blinked in surprise at his audacity. "Sir, you cannot—"

"I think you'll find that I can," The Doctor retorted, his long fingers flying over the keys.

The large screen in front of them transfigured into a 3D map of the ocean. Models of fish and other forms of sea life came to view only to vanish within seconds of The Doctor's frantic searching. At last a black mass appeared on the screen. It was shaped like a fish, but the proportions were…off. It didn't look organic. In fact, Rory was fairly certain the creature's scales were actually bits of metal.

"That is not one of ours," the blue female said, astounded.

"No," The Doctor agreed gravelly. He rose from his chair slowly, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "Get everyone off that planet this instant. I know who this belongs to." The Time Lord rose and strode towards the exit.

"Who?" the blue alien asked.

Without another word, the Time Lord exited the room, leaving Rory to chase after.

* * *

"You're saying human traffickers took my wife?" Rory asked.

He observed from a distance as the Time Lord mucked about with the TARDIS controls, wondering if he was doing so out of necessity, or as a means of calming himself down.

The Doctor threw a switch and the time machine gave a tremor. "There are certain parts of the galaxy where humans are extraordinarily valuable. Traffickers go to planets densely populated by them, let lose small mechanoids designed to incapacitate and capture them. I've dealt with them before. Broke some of their instruments used for calculating the 'worth' of the people they capture. Managed to destroy their base of operations, scramble their communications, and accidentally threw three of them into a black hole."

Rory quirked an eyebrow skeptically. "Accidentally?"

"Seventh incarnation," The Doctor shrugged. "Bit temperamental."

"But Amy, Doctor, they won't hurt her, will they?"

"No. They want to sell her. Hurting her might decrease her worth on the black market." His jaw set angrily.

"So how will we get her out of there?"

"I have a plan," he said somberly. "I'm going to pose as a potential buyer and you are my valet."

"Wait. How much do these people…charge?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to buy Amy. I'm going to shut them down, permanently."

Rory nodded. "So what do I do as your valet?"

"Oh, mostly nod and say 'very good, sir.' Head to the closet and find a decent pair of clothes."

The human sighed, climbing up the flight of stairs to the wardrobe. "Very good, sir."

The Doctor waited until Rory had vanished from sight to strike the console repeatedly in a fit of rage. Sparks flew into the air and fizzled out as ship made a sour sound of protest, but he was too livid to pay it any mind.

This was his fault. Always his fault. Why couldn't he let go? Why did he have to drag them down with him?

He thought he could do it. Thought he could slowly wean them off of traveling with him, but he couldn't seem to let them slip away entirely.

It wasn't for want of trying. The Doctor had been keeping himself busy.

He'd travelled to the Lake District with Hemingway, gone spelunking with glowing goldfish from Carassius 2, he'd even played tiddlywinks with Princess Diana.

Nevertheless, the quiet of the TARDIS after each adventure had been forcing The Doctor's mind into dark corners he preferred to leave unexamined. The anniversary of That Thing He Doesn't Talk About was looming and he needed his Ponds.

Then this had happened.

Amy had nearly drowned and was now in the clutches some of the most appalling excuses for mankind the universe had to offer.

He would get her back safely. If she had so much as a scratch on her, he wasn't sure what he would do. But what about when she was safe again? He would take both of them back to their nice, safe home, most likely. Back to their normal lives they had built together.

The Doctor's hearts wrenched at the thought. No more adventures, no more silly Old Doctor. Just the two of them, as it should be. The Ponds with their jobs and their lives. Lives without him.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"I'll worry about it later," he whispered. The Doctor adjusted the monitor and searched for the channel the traffickers would be using to communicate with buyers.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Don't despair about the lack of Amy's boys in this chapter. They'll be back in short order for chapter four. In the meantime, catch up with Amy and my OC. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Three

Clarice woke with a pounding head and a sluggish pulse.

The world swum and spun around her as shapes of humanoid creatures with harsh shadows loomed ahead. Cries of panic emanated from all around her, echoing as if she were hearing them from the bottom of a well.

With some difficulty, she turned herself over onto her front and the undescriptive shapes transfigured into women from all different races and nationalities. In a burst, her hearing returned and she was nearly deafened by a cacophony of languages all blending together as one desperate cry.

Some women sat on the floor, huddled together and crying while others banged on the metal walls with their fists as if to cave them in by force of will.

What was happened?

She cuffed her hands over her ears so she could concentrate. Her heightened senses were going haywire. The air was stale with body odor: a nauseating concoction of sweat and tears. It was abnormally hot as well, no doubt from so many people being cramped into such a small space.

Where was she?

The first thing she thought of when she saw the metal walls was a semi truck. But when she placed her hand on the ground she realized that the balance was wrong. The floor was too thick.

A hissing noise rent the air and a large metal door flew open, very nearly colliding into the people closest to it.

"Get back!" a heavily accented voice cried. It was proceeded by tall man brandishing a handgun. The women back away, stepping on one another as they did so. The barrel of the weapon swung from one side of the room to another. The captives cried out, crouching in terror.

Clarice buried her face in the ground and screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the sound of gunfire.

She was going to die.

She was going to die _right here_.

An icy chill spider-crawled on her spine in spite of the hot atmosphere.

"Please be quick," she whispered, "please, please, please be quick."

The gun did not fire.

Hesitantly she glanced up through tears and noticed that the man had a redheaded woman with him in tow. A woman whom appeared shockingly more angry than afraid.

"Let go of me!" she demanded, attempting to wrench herself free. Her captor's hand squeezed around her slender arm like a manacle. He whispered something before beaming her in the side of the head with his weapon. She toppled to the ground, dazed.

"Right," the man said, "you lot are gunna coooperate, 'ear?" His accent was nearly unintelligibly, but based on the reaction of those around him, it seemed as if he was being understood in spite of it. "Do every fing we tells ya, and no 'un will get 'urt."

He rotated his gun from side to side again, taking a few steps back. Then, as quickly as he'd come, he slammed the door shut.

Instantaneously, the crowd burst into incomprehensible chatter.

Clarice kept her eyes trained on the redheaded woman whose mouth was frozen in a grimace of pain.

 _Is she going to be okay?_

She waited for someone to come to the woman's aid. There had to be someone there who knew how to attend to a wounded person. But it soon became apparent that no one was going to help her. They were all too preoccupied with their own fear, their own self-preservation that they didn't notice.

Clarice was immobile with indecision.

 _What could I do? Even if she is hurt, I don't have any training in first aid._

The only thing she knew how to do was perform mouth-to-mouth and CPR. She knew nothing about how to properly attend to head wounds.

Nonetheless, the longer she looked at the woman, the more the desire to help blossomed in her belly.

Clarice came to her feet and shouldered past the forest of arms and legs and torsos over to where the redhead lay. By this time, the woman had managed to raise herself up on all fours. Clarice knelt down in front of her, careful not to overcrowd her anymore than was necessary.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The woman met Clarice's eye, her gaze unfocused. "I think so," she rasped. Her accent sounded vaguely Scottish, or Irish. Clarice wasn't sure, not being accustomed to either dialect.

The woman folded her long legs underneath her and sat down, holding the side of her head. Between her long, thin fingers, Clarice noticed faint traces of blood.

Clarice removed her hoodie and presented it to the Scotswoman.

"I don't know if this will help with the bleeding, but it's clean."

Clarice suspected she'd done the wrong thing when the woman gave her a perplexed look, but soon her pale face softened and she accepted the garment.

"Thanks," she croaked, pressing the hoodie against her temple. There was a moment of silence as she seemed to be gathering her thoughts.

"I'm Amy, Amy Pond," she said at last. "What's your name?"

"Clarice Sutherland." She threw a look over her shoulder at the other women, before leaning closer to the redheaded Scotswoman. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. I really, really don't. I was swimming with my husband, Rory, and now I'm here." She glanced about her person as it to get a better idea of where 'here' was. "Some strange women in hoods came and changed me out of my swim clothes. Put me in this." She lowered her head to indicate to her current attire, a loose fitting white blouse with blue flowing pants.

"I…I just got off work," Clarice said. "There was a cat. I thought it was hurt. But when I tried to help it….there was something wrong with its eyes-"

"And you woke up here," Amy interrupted. "Have you seen anyone else? Any men?"

"No," Clarice shook her head. "Only women…."

Amy considered this for a moment before speaking again. "I remember now. I remember wakin' up with two men there. They were trying to guess how much I'm worth."

"Worth?" A chill ran down Clarice's spine. "This…" she looked about fearfully. "This is human trafficking?"

"Yeah. Must be."

Clarice's gaze turned towards the door. The only discernible exit. It was at least five inches thick from the look of it, not something a simple pick pocket could undo. And it had metal bars criss-crossing in the middle of it. There were no windows. Everything appeared to be illuminated by lights concealed in the ceiling.

"What do we do?"

"Don't worry," the Scotswoman consoled. "I have this friend, right? He's called The Doctor. He'll get us out of here."

"The Doctor?" Clarice tried not to bristle at the name, bidding away childhood memories of stiff sofas and the overwhelming smell of cleaning fluid.

"I was with him on Space Florida when I was taken," Amy went on. "I bet he's worked out I haven't drowned by now. At least I hope so."

"Did you…did you say Space Florida? Like, Florida…in _space_?"

"I reckon we're on some sort of space ship now. Feels like one at least. Wish I knew we were headed."

Clarice could only stare in disbelief.

A Space ship.

This woman thought they were on a _space ship_.

Everything about her was making sense. Of course she hadn't been afraid to go up against an armed guard. Because she was crazy. Part of her ached with the knowledge that this woman probably couldn't help her escape (if such a thing was possible) but she was the only person thus far she'd been able to communicate with at all. The only one with a cool enough head.

"You're from Earth, yeah?" Amy asked. "America?"

"Where else would I be from?"

"Dunno. Starship America? Do they have a Starship America? Doctor took me to the Starship UK once." She brightened at the memory. "God that was ages ago."

"The Doctor…" Clarice pressed. "Is he _your_ doctor?"

"No, he's not _my_ doctor. He's _The_ Doctor. He's an alien and the cleverest man I've ever met. Just don't tell him I said that."

Clarice was beginning to feel like a soccer ball that'd had all the air kicked out of it.

How was this happened to her?

Today had started off like every other day, filled with boredom and predictability. Now all of the sudden she was trapped in a cell with a crazy person that thought her doctor—her _alien_ doctor—was going to burst in and rescue her like a superhero or something.

It was like being stuck in a comedy without jokes.

"Hey," the redhead chastised, no doubt detecting her melancholy. "Trust me, okay? I've known The Doctor for years. He's rescued me more times than I can count. Just focus on staying alive in the meantime, yeah?"

Clarice swallowed, but her companion's resolve remained unwavering. It was clear that in spite of how absurd this woman's claims were, she believed them whole-heartedly. She wished she had that level of hope right now. Or any kind really.

The crazy thing was the longer she held Amy's gaze, the more contagious her self-assurance became. Clarice knew it wasn't logical, but maybe she didn't' need logic right now. She needed to believe that she was going to make it out of this. Even if it was just a pipe dream. The only alternative was sobbing in a corner alone and waiting to die. Or, perhaps, for something much worse.

Clarice nodded. "Okay."

Amy placed a comforting hand on the young girl's shoulder.

Just then the hiss of the airlock sounded again.

* * *

The numpty that had dragged Amy in re-entered the cell, this time accompanied by three more men. They each held what looked like a Gameboy her parents had bought her in primary school and wore the same type of uniform she'd seen the others wearing: black from head to toe like riot police officers on a budget.

The first barked at all of them to stand with their backs against the wall. This wasn't an easy feat what with them barely having enough room to stand at all. Nevertheless, they had little choice but to do as they were told.

The men spread out and scanned the women one at a time. Usually the device would give a "bing" but occasionally it would give a low dirge and then that women was stamped on the back of her hand and was dragged from the hold.

"What are they doing with them?" Clarice whispered, panic lacing her voice.

Amy didn't answer, shaking her head instead. She instantly regretted this as the unnecessary movement caused her brain to swim. Her heart pounded and her palms became sweaty _. Don't panic_ , she scolded herself. _Panicking doesn't help_.

She tried to do as The Doctor instructed her their first adventure together: Notice everything. She scanned the traffickers and immediately observed all of them were armed to the teeth. Not just with the riffles strapped on their backs, but by devices that looked vaguely like explosives, long knives, handguns, and magazines for their firearms.

Even if she managed to take one by surprise, it wouldn't take long for another to draw their weapon and take her out. But maybe her fighting could set off a chain reaction and then…then what? These women were unarmed. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel.

Where was The Doctor? It was impossible to derive any sense of time. She'd been knocked out so much, it could be six days 'til Christmas as far as she knew.

Any moment now he would barge in, all floppy hair and swagger.

 _Just keep your head and wait. You're the Girl Who Waited. Do your job._

However, dark thoughts prickled her mind.

What if he thought she'd drowned? What if they didn't realize she'd been taken? Her throat tightened at the image of Rory, her Rory, heartbroken and lost trying to locate her body.

They wouldn't come looking for her because they wouldn't know she'd gone.

Her chest tightened and she became painfully aware of the hair standing up on the back of her neck.

She might never, ever see them again.

Her boys.

Her Doctor and Nurse.

She could be light-years away in an endless universe. No way of calling for help. No means of escape.

Amy's breathing came out harsh. It was time that she admitted it to herself: She was scared. Really, properly scared.

One of the traffickers stopped in front of Clarice, casting a shadow over her face. He dwarfed the girl by about a foot and a half and easily weighed four times as much as her in muscle mass. Clarice's eyes glimmered up at him in fear as he scanned her from head to torso.

It gave a high beep, the sound that Amy had come to learn meant she was all clear. However, the man didn't move on to Amy. He just stood there, frowning at the readings. He scanned her again. The apparatus beeped once more.

One of the man's comrades noticed he was having difficulties. "What's the hold up, Morgie?"

Morgie shook his head. "Something's wrong with the scanner." He slapped the side of the device with his palm.

"Use mine," his associate suggested. Morgie accepted the small gadget and then conducted another examination of Clarice only to be met with the same result. The tiny machine beeped in approval.

"Look at these readings, Trev."

Amy watched confusion play on Trev's face as he glanced at the small contraption.

"Take her to the Captain," he concluded. "He'll know what to do with her."

"Right," Morgie muttered. He grabbed Clarice by the arm and pinned it behind her back. The terror in the young woman's eyes ignited a fire in Amy's belly.

"Hey!" Amy cried. "Let go of her!"

In seconds, the trafficker that called himself Trev had hooked his arms around Amy's torso and was pulling her back.

"Finish up with the rest," Morgie said to Trev "You know how the Captain is about his schedule."

Amy caught Clarice's eye and witnessed the pure panic they contained. She was powerless to do anything but watch as the brunette was forcibly removed from the hold.

* * *

Clarice had no chance of escaping the trafficker, but she'd been thrown into fight-or-flight mode and it wouldn't stop her from trying. She pulled and kicked, she arched her back and struggled. Nevertheless, he never so much as loosened his grip.

"You want me to shoot you in the leg?" her captor demanded, shouting into her ear.

She offered a terrified glance, eyes prickling with tears, as her only answer.

"Then keep movin' then," he snarled.

Clarice reluctantly found herself keeping pace with him.

Where were they taking her? She had a feeling they wouldn't tell her even if she asked. Would she wind up in the same place as the women that they'd stamped?

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Would her parents ever find out what happened to her? If she was killed would they ever discover her body?

 _Stop. Think about something else._

Her eyes roamed around the corridors, hoping to find something else to occupy her mind. The halls were wide with lead pipes running through the length of them. The area seemed to breathe and hum as if a large machine were at work somewhere.

 _Like a ship_ , she thought. _Like a space…._

She was dragged into a massive room that looked like an abandoned warehouse or airplane hanger. A monolithic computer dominated the wall opposite her, unlike anything Clarice had been exposed to. Wires, thin and long, formed a web around it.

Two men were seated in winged chairs in front of a tall control panel, studying much smaller monitors that were also mounted to the wall. One was noticeable younger than the other. The eldest turned towards them, his brow raised questioningly.

"What's a catch doing in here, Morgie?" he demanded.

"Sorry, Captain," Morgie said. "I wasn't sure what to do with her."

The Captain snorted derisively. "If there's something wrong with her, just throw her in the cell with the other rejects."

"No, sir. There's nothing wrong with her it's just…she ain't human, sir."

Clarice's blood went cold

 _She ain't human, sir._

She was surprised by how much these words filled her with dread.

They were crazy. Absurd. Of course she was human. What else could she possibly be?

Clarice's blood was churning, nearly audible as her lungs tried to provide her brain with oxygen.

"No," The Captain shook his head soberly. "Not possible. Them baiters is programed to pick up humans only."

"I don't know, sir, but…" Morgie motioned to Clarice helplessly. "You can take a look for yourself." He removed his scanner from his utility belt and lightly tossed it to the captain.

The Captain eyed the girl dubiously before scanning her with the handheld instrument. The readings, apparently, were not what he expected. He frowned at Clarice again before trying a second time. The contraption chirped benignly.

"What the hell?" he murmured. "Flash. Take a look at this."

The younger man pried himself from his seat and joined the others. Flash looked over the data, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Flash shook his head. "It's working perfect. But he's right, she's not human."

The Captain cursed under his breath, stomping four paces away from his crew. Shaking his head testily, he rounded on them. "How the hell did this happen? Those baiters were top-of-the-line, you said. No mistakes, you said."

"They were. They _are,_ " Flash defended.

"Then how do you explain _that_?" He stabbed a finger at Clarice and she flinched.

"I…I don't know." Flash paled at the accusation.

"You don't know. Well, ain't that a laugh." The Captain squared up to Flash, and the subordinate was visible unnerved. "That was part of our deal. I work the business side; you operate the tech. If you tell me you're slackin' off-"

"Gil-Captain," he amended, "I haven't. I swear. Look, let's get LOUISA to have a look at her. See how much she's worth."

"We sell _humans_ , Flash," the Captain retorted. "Aliens is too risky. Especially on this side of the galaxy. You remember what happened to Bernard? Accidentally caught himself some duchess from Rabransel. Next thing he knows The Church is slappin' cuffs on him. He's servin' six three hundred year sentences."

Flash shrugged sheepishly. "She's already here. There's no going back. We might as well see if we can get some extra cash. Throwing her away without knowing would just be a waste of money. You know how expensive it is to operate those teleporters."

The Captain sighed through his nose, turning to Morgie who only stared back, ambivalent about the whole situation. He murmured something about incompetence before coming to a decision.

"Right," he grumbled. "If she comes up under three thousand credits, it's the reject pile." The commanding officer ambled over to the control panel and flicked a few switches. "Stand on the yellow tape."

Morgie gave Clarice a hard shove in the direction of a yellow x in the middle of the floor. It was in the path of the giant computer. She assumed that _this_ was LOUISA.

"Don't move," the Captain ordered. "Don't say nothing. Don't even think. Got it?"

Clarice didn't know how to communicate she understood without performing any of these actions and so she stood as still as she could, hoping this would be enough of a response.

The Captain threw a switch on the control panel and a light bloomed on top of the large computer.

Her hands turned clammy and her body shivered. The muscles in her legs tightened as if preparing her for take off.

She had to get out. She would die if she didn't get out of there.

But there was nowhere to go. They had her trapped.

The red beam began at the top of her head and slowly wormed its way down, tickling the exposed skin of her face and neck. It was difficult not to move with such a bright light shining in her face, but she did the best she could.

At last, the beam retracted and she sighed with relief. Against the captain's orders not to move, she lightly patted herself down to see if it had done anything to her, but she still felt in tact.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as the monitor came to life, showing her a 3D model of herself.

"Calculating," the computer said in a sultry female voice. The model spun on an invisible axis before it was pushed aside to make room for paragraphs of text.

"Height: 5'2 inches. Weight: 52.6167 kg. Natural hair color: Brown. Extrapolating additional statistics, please wait."

Clarice felt her dizziness increase. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine a calming scene like Dr. Omeke had trained her to do.

 _Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyar- They're going to find out. They're going to find out about my birth defects. They're going to kill me._

Her eyes watered as the computer continued its evaluation.

"Binary vascular system. Advanced mental capabilities. Abnormal physiologically endurance levels. High resistance to viral diseases. Regenerative capabilities. Expected lifespan: 26,895.3456 years. Planet of origin: Gallifrey."

"Gallifrey?" Flash asked. "What the hell is Gallifrey?"

The Captain shook his head. "Never heard of it." He turned to Clarice. "You, what's Gallifrey?"

Clarice's mouth slacked open, but all that came out was a stutter, followed by a weak "I don't know."

"You don't know your own bloody planet?"

"I've-I've never even heard of it before."

"You thick or something?"

Clarice didn't reply. Her eyes found the word and traced them. Her hearts arrested for a split second and she thought she would scream. Instead she devoted all of her strength to standing.

 _Gallifrey._

"Right. 'Nough stalling. Time for the important bit." Gil pressed a few buttons on the console. "Show me the money."

"Calculating value," LOUISA said.

Clarice's 3D avatar was replaced by a string of numbers. It began as a four-digit figure, but quickly grew. In a matter of seconds, numbers consumed the screen in an avalanche of data until there was no white space at all. It didn't stop there. The numbers kept climbing and climbing, reaching higher than the humans could count.

The Captain and Flash stared at the screen slack-jawed.

"Bleedin' hell," The Captain whispered.

Flash shook his head incredulously. "It's never done that before."

The Captain snapped a finger at Morgie. "Look up Gallifrey."

"On it, boss." Morgie took a seat in one of the winged chairs and began pressing keys.

"It's _still_ going," the Second-in-Command marveled. "How's it _still_ going?"

Gil didn't have an answer. His cold brown eyes remained transfixed to the monitor like someone who had climbed to the top of the highest mountain and was gazing down at everything in creation.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Bleeding beautiful."

"There's hardly anything here, sir," Morgie spoke, interrupting the Captain's reverie. "Most folks say it never existed."

"Go on," the Captain coaxed, shifting his gaze to Clarice who swallowed nervously.

"It's called the Jewel of Kasterborous. One of the most advanced civilizations to ever exist, but that's all that's known. That and it was home to some pompous wankers called Time Lords."

"Well, then," a smile tugged at the corner of the Gil's lips. "Looks like you're going to make us kings, _Time Lord_."

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 **AN: This chapter was a beast to write so feedback would be** ** _immensely_** **appreciated. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you guys so much for the reviews! I'm happy that you guys have been enjoying this story! Just as an FYI, I'm going to _try_ to update at least once a week for this story, although that may be pushed back because of life. I hope you guys enjoy the latest installment.**

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Chapter Four

After the excitement of the Gallifreyan girl it was back to business as usual: The sniveling, the crying, the begging. Gil had half a mind to throw the lot of them in the reject pile and call it a day.

His patience was further tested by some New Earth French tart they'd caught vacationing at a leisure planet who refused to stop carrying on throughout the whole bleeding process. Her face was splotchy from all her caterwauling and she panted hysterically like she'd run a marathon. She babbled incoherently in New French, her fingers laced together in front of her in a pleading gesture.

"Shut your trap, you hear?" Gil ordered from the sidelines.

The catch's wails reached another decibel.

The captain rolled his eyes.

Telling her to calm down was useless so he went ahead and ran the scans anyway. To Gil's dismay, her net worth tallied at a dismal seven thousand credits. Ed collected her as he'd done with the others and she screamed like a bloody banshee down the corridor. Gil cursed as her cries resonated inside his brain even after she'd been towed away.

Bleeding hell, he wouldn't miss the shrieking.

His spirits were greatly improved when he spied the Edos girls limping into the room. Without a word, the tallest slunk over to the captain and handed him a tablet for his inspection.

On the screen were photographs of the Gallifreyan girl all done up. Eyeliner had been added to bring out the color in her robin's egg blue eyes and a light blush had been applied to her cheeks. She was a scrawny bird, but the red silk dress they'd given her accentuated every possible curve. She glanced at the camera head on, but her eyes betrayed her nervousness.

"She's cute," he mused. "Bet Tanzar would like her."

Tanzar, a giant yellow pustule from Xafra, usually favored the smaller catches, even though they were easy to break. That's what happens when a four hundred and eighty-kilogram slug straddles a catch weighting fifty-two kilograms.

Gil didn't complain, though. It meant he was back looking for another in a couple of weeks.

"You upload them to the cloud?" The cloaked beings nodded. "Good. Back to your cages." Obediently the aliens shrunk away to hide in their nests, buried deep in the bowels of the ship.

Gil collapsed into the chair beside Flash who was still working tirelessly on their channel. "How are we doing?" He compacted the tablet into a small pill shape and placed it in his utility belt.

"I've added the Gallifreyan girl's data to the channel."

"The Edos girls uploaded her photos."

"I know. I put them on her profile." The second-in-command made a face as if he was unsure of how to proceed. "Look, I know LOUISA says she's worth…well…more than anything we've ever sold. But do you think one hundred million credits is too much for a starting price? I mean, who has that kind of money?"

"Did you see the same stats I saw? You can buy planets for less than what she's really worth. We ain't talkin' bout your average flea-market trash here, Flash, this is Grade A merchandise. We'd be mad to go any lower."

Flash nodded unconvincingly.

"What?" Gil demanded. "Somethin' else is botherin' you. Out with it."

"It's just…."Flash sighed. "Normally when we upload the catch's information we mention where we got 'em, right?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"So," Flash tapped a few keys and the screen changed to show a photograph of a black cat next to a wall of text written in code. "It don't add up." He jerked a thumb at the screen. "It says that it caught her on Earth. On _Old E_ arth."

"What's your point?"

"I never sent a baiter to Old Earth, it's too risky. The teleport shouldn't even be strong enough to reach that far of a distance. And look, it doesn't have a time stamp on it. I can't get a fix on when she was taken, neither."

Gil shrugged. "Maybe your program is faulty. No hard feelings, Flash, but you ain't as clever as you think you are sometimes."

Flash's brow furrowed as he stared at the monitor, but he said nothing to this.

"Look, you know what they say 'bout gift horses and mouths, yeah? It don't matter where she came from. After tonight-after we get all them catches sorted-that's a wrap. You'll be retiree at twenty-nine. How'll that be?"

Flash cracked a reluctant smile.

"You see?" he ribbed his second-in-command good-naturedly. "That's better. Just worry about what you'll do with your share."

He could hear the sound of a catch's screams progressing down the corridor and Gil felt a headache coming on. He'd have several hours more of this before it was time for the grand auction. The home stretch.

"You think you can manage on your own? I haven't had nothing to eat since 0800."

"Aye, Captain," Flash replied.

"Brill. I won't be long."

Satisfied everything was in its proper place, Gil rose from his chair and traipsed towards the mess hall with a swagger in his step.

Ten years.

He'd been at this job for _ten years_ and it was nearly over.

Some days it seemed like only yesterday that he'd abandoned The Church. On others, when the profits were low and demands were down, it felt closer to twenty years.

But overall he'd had a good run. A smooth operation.

It was nothing like the ickle business in the Delta Quadrant he and his fellow clerics had put a halt to all those years ago.

After they'd booked the blighters and placed the catches in hospitals to re-cooperate, Gil had stayed awake all night in his cot, imagining what someone like him, someone with brains and street smarts, could make. He could build an empire twice the size with double the earnings.

In no time at all, he gave up being a toy solider to become something more. Luckily he'd been able to convince Flash (then known as Michael), to help him. He'd seen the way his eyes had lit up when he'd mentioned all the money they had funneled out of the traffickers' account. Money that had gone to waste on some filthy refugees living on some backwards planet.

Gil wished he could confront those tossers he'd thrown in prison all those years back and watch them drool over the profits he was about to make. "See what you could have been?" he would say.

Red lights flashed and a deafening siren sounded.

"INTRUDERS: DECK THREE." LOUSIA's voice warned. "INTRUDERS: DECK THREE. INTRUDERS: DECK THREE."

Gil swore vehemently as he reached for the rifle strapped to his back. He hustled up the stairs two at a time, unlatching the safety on his weapon.

"Flash," he shouted into the com attached to his uniform, "Code 4. Lock down the catches. Do not hand them over. Repeat: Do _not_ hand them over."

He didn't wait for a response. Adrenaline coursed in his blood so hard he could practically smell the copper.

It had to be The Church. Of course they'd turned up. Right at the moment the stars had all aligned for him. Well, he'd be damned if they were going to take this away from him. He'd see every man dead before he handed over his merchandise.

When he made it onto Deck 3 he was greeted by the most peculiar sight of his life:

His crew had completely surrounded two men, both humans from the look of it. The first was a blond bloke with his hair combed to one side wearing a dress shirt and cardigan. His bespectacled eyes were wide with terror as he held his hands over his head in surrender. The other, a dark-haired gentleman wearing a tux and a bowtie, smiled benignly at the group and looked about from man to man as if they were all personal friends of his.

"Ah, so this is where you lot had got to," the dark-haired man proclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the precariousness of his situation. "Sorry about the alarm. We tried the front, but we couldn't locate the doorbell."

"Cap'n," Ed said, the barrel of his rifle trained on the intruder's nose. "We don't know how 'e got in. 'e just appeared out of nowhere."

Gil jerked his chin in acknowledgment. Seeing no need for it what with all his team members on the defensive, he lowered his weapon.

"Who the hell are you?" the captain demanded.

His crew jumped when the strange man reached into his coat pocket, but all he produced was a billfold which he confidently flashed in Gil's face.

"Kaldex Maxnion! Inventor, investor, and the richest man this side of the galaxy."

Incredulously, the captain approached the man and plucked the billfold from his hand. Sure enough, the photograph on the ID bore a perfect likeness to the man in front of him, along with the sigil of the Maxnion family: A dragon coiled around a dying star.

"Kal Max?" Gil asked, hardly believing it.

Of course he'd heard of Kal Max (everyone and their aunt had), but he'd never made a public appearance to Gil's knowledge. Max was a recluse who owned his own private planet. He ran his companies through his lawyers who, allegedly, communicated with him as he sat behind a black screen. The way Gil heard it even Max's own help didn't know what he looked like.

"No dust on the Captain," Kal Max replied cheerfully.

"Stand down," Gil ordered.

Confused, his men obediently lowered their weapons and exchanged bemused looks with each other.

"Alright," their captain said, "that's enough excitement, boys. Back to work, you lot. Loads to be done."

Slowly, his crew peeled away from the scene. Some spared the multi-trillionaire a dirty look or two, but none of them spoke out against him. It wasn't until they had completely dispersed that Kal Max's friend deemed it safe enough for him to lower his arms.

The captain passed the wallet back to its owner. "Sorry, sir. Just got a big shipment in today. Can't be too careful."

"Well, you're only human, Captain…?"

"Captain Bellamy, sir. Pleasure to have you on board. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a special friend and I heard you were selling."

"We got all kinds, sir. Have something specific in mind?"

Maxnion rubbed his hands together, a gesture Gil found all too familiar. It was the look of a man that knew exactly what he wanted. This normally meant a quick transaction, a handshake, and a hasty goodbye. But today he had another catch to sell and Max was exactly the man to buy her.

"I'm looking for a ginger." The multi-trillionaire raised his hand just above his eye, "About this tall, chatty, legs that go on forever."

"We got a ginge or two, no problem. They'll likely be in Cell 3, down a f-"

"Splendid," Maxnion exclaimed, meandering right past the trafficker and down the nearest corridor. "Wonderful ship. Bit luxurious for shipping cargo, though wouldn't you say?"

Gil and Maxnion's companion had to hustle to keep up with the multi-trillionaire who had vey nearly turned a corner, plunging deeper into the ship.

"Bought it off the owner of a luxury liner," Gil lied. "He didn't want to part with it but the business wasn't doin' too good."

Maxnion glanced over his shoulder at the captain, his eyes twinkling shrewdly. "Most people are reluctant to part with things that are precious to them."

Gil saw this as an opportunity to make his move. "Speaking of precious, we caught a real treasure today."

"Did you? Lovely. Isn't that lovely, Rory?"

"Very good, sir."

" _You always say that_ ," he murmured. To Gil he said, "What sort of _treasure_ did you capture?"

"The rarest specimen we've ever come across. Only one of them in the whole universe. We're having an auction over the Space Net tonight, but if you're interested in her, I may be able to pull a few strings."

"Rare specimen? Blimey, didn't see that in the brochure. What makes this girl so valuable?"

"She's a Time Lord."

Gil, who had been struggling to keep up with Maxnion up until this point nearly collided into him as he came to a complete and abrupt halt. For a moment, the multi-trillionaire stood completely still save for the clenching and unclenching of his fists. Gradually, however, he turned to look at the trafficker.

Shock and confusion chased each other across Maxnion's face. Gil stifled a smug grin at his reaction. Now he had him.

" _What_?" Maxnion asked, hardly above a whisper.

"One of our baiters caught a Gallifreyan today. A young girl. She ain't a ginger, but she's-"

Without warning, Maxnion grabbed him by the uniform and pinned the captain to the wall. Before Gil had time to process what was happening, Maxnion was shoving his face inches from Gil's own and glowered at him as if he'd personally insulted his mum.

"The Time Lords are _dead_ ," he snarled. "They've been dead for hundreds of years. Thousands." He emphasized this point by pulling him back and slamming him against the wall again. "They were wiped out, every single one. So, no, one cannot be here. One cannot be anywhere. Do you understand?"

Maxnion's eyes burned into Gil's with a poisonous anger the likes of which Gil had never seen. Sure, he'd been at the receiving end of a drunken tirade or an unhappy client, but he couldn't recall a time when a bloke threw him against a wall for trying to sell him something.

"Doc—um Mr. Maxnion," his servant spoke up at last, "maybe we should hear him out."

"Sir," Gil said as calmly as he could muster, "I have picture, diagnostics, I can show you her myself if you want."

Maxnion's grip slackened slightly, but he didn't release him completely. Gil didn't want to test him by trying to pull away. The wealthy man turned to his servant who shrugged in response. Finally, he let go of the front of Gil's uniform, but continued to regard him with a strange, calculating look. The same look Gil's father used to give when he was sizing someone up at a pub, trying to determine whether or not he could take them one-on-one.

"I should warn you, Captain, I am very knowledgeable about Time Lords. If I find out you're lying to me…."

"I understand, sir." He didn't but he was keen to move on. It looked as though he was making progress. "She's a living, breathing Time Lord. I stake my reputation on it."

Maxnion considered this for a moment before turning to his valet. "Rory, remember what we discussed."

Rory nodded knowingly. "Yes, sir."

Maxnion handed Rory a wand-like device which the underling hastily stored away in the inside pocket of his dinner jacket.

"What's that?" Gil asked.

"Let's just say I have my own way of determining worth," Maxnion replied, offering Gil an ironic smile. "Have one of your men escort my valet to the cells. If what you say about the Gallifreyan is true, I'll purchase both."

"Not a problem." Gil turned on his communicator and brought Flash up to speed. He then contacted Ed and told Trev to abandon his post for the time being to guide Maxnion's valet to the cells. The hulk appeared a few moments later and escorted the reluctant man to Cell 3.

"Whenever you're ready, sir," Gil said to Max.

"Now, I should think," Maxnion replied, straightening his bowtie. "After all, time is money."

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 **AN: Hope you guys enjoyed that! Please review! It helps me out a lot.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry that I couldn't get this up by Saturday, guys. Had some issues with the rewrites. Enough excuses. Hope you guys enjoy!**

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Chapter Five

Rory was a simple man.

He enjoyed watching telly, spending time with Amy, a glass of wine after work, and a bit of football on the weekends.

So how was it that more often than not he wound up zipping around spaceships trying to rescue his wife?

 _Focus on the plan,_ he scolded himself. _Now isn't the time for self-reflection_.

Nevertheless, now that the odds of him being shot had been lowered (albeit only by a fraction), he was becoming more and more agitated with his and Amy's current predicament.

Why had he agreed to go to Space Florida? Why hadn't he insisted they stay home? Why had he thought that this time would be any different and they would be able to have a calm relaxing afternoon in space? Nothing was ever that simple where The Doctor was concerned. A day at the beach could turn into a life-or-death struggle in the blink of an eye.

What was it that Einstein had said about madness? That it was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result?

Rory gave a low sigh. He knew it wasn't The Doctor's fault. At least not directly. He never planned on things going completely mental. They just _did_. Always.

Rory had to admit that, sometimes, he enjoyed the adventure. Yes, he, Rory Williams, occasionally liked the running and journeying to new lands. But was it worth the risk? While The Doctor had managed to keep them alive (well, sort of) on their many scrapes and japes, eventually—it was a mathematical certainty—they would run out of stamina. One day they would fall. And Rory wasn't sure if he could live with himself if that happened.

A twenty-something trafficker decked out in armor escorted the nurse down the monochrome corridors of the human trafficking vessel. Considering it should be full of people, it was unsettlingly quiet. So far the only sounds were of the guard's large metal boots clomping against the metal deck and the gentle humming of the engines.

However, as they neared the holding cells, Rory could make out the noise of human desperation increasing. His heart beat faster as he thought of Amy being trapped inside such a cell, crammed like cattle in a slaughterhouse.

Rory clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to calm himself with minimal success.

"Cell 3, sir," Trev said, interrupting the nurse's thought. He inserted a card in a slot and the door slid open. "Wait here just a moment."

He entered the room first, his weapon raised. "Back!" he shouted. "Back against the wall."

Cries of alarm rent the air along with the scrambling of feet.

"It's alright, sir," Trev called from within. "You can come in."

Rory took a deep breath and stepped inside the cell, unsure of what he would find.

Women of all shapes, sizes and ethnicities were pushed against the back wall. The smell of fear and perspiration were pervasive in the air. Many of the women were too afraid to look at him as he strode further into the relatively small space.

Rory scanned their faces and was terrified to note that Amy wasn't among them. A multitude of possibilities raced through his mind, but he tried to stay calm. He couldn't give himself and The Doctor away. Not yet.

Trev retrieved a pill-like device from his utility belt and then contorted the malleable metal until it took on the form of a tablet. "Right," he murmured seemingly to himself.

Without warning he reached for an attractive redhead in a floral print skirt and heels and pushed her in Rory's direction. The nurse was only just able to catch her before she face-planted on the ground. She looked up at him in heartbreaking despondency. Black streaks lined her cheeks, a mixture of mascara and tears.

"There you go. She's twenty-eight, weighs fifty-four kilos, natural ginger. Got a life expectancy of about eighty-three years. No genetic deformities. No diseases."

Fat tears spilled down the woman's face. "Please," she whispered. "I got a little girl at home. She doesn't know where I am."

Rory swallowed a lump in his throat, pity pulled at his heart.

"Um. No, sorry. I don't think so."

Trev glanced up from the tablet to raise an eyebrow at the nurse. "Didn't you say your employer wanted a ginger? That's the best one we've got."

"He does, it's just…" _It's just this one is not my wife._ "It's just he's very…particular."

Trev frowned at Rory and he nurse resisted the urge to swallow under his scrutinizing gaze.

Eventually the young man nodded before addressing the woman who was still clinging to the roman like a lifeline. "You," he demanded, "back with the rest."

She looked to Rory with wet pleading eyes. When she refused to comply with orders, Morgie seized her by the arm and shoved her back amongst the other women. Her legs gave out and she fell to the floor, a mess of weeping.

Rory fought every instinct he had to kneel beside her and provide some sort of comfort.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a familiar Scottish brogue.

"Get your hands off me!"

Rory's heart hammered.

"Amy," he whispered.

It wasn't long before another guard, about the same age as Rory's escort, stomped into the cell with the nurse's wife in tow.

Her hair was messy and in her face and partially caked with dried blood on one side. She wore clothes that weren't hers and she appeared a dark shade of pink from her exertions.

"Keep an eye out, Trev," the other trafficker said, his hands clasping tightly to Amy's thin arms. "This one's bloody mental."

"When I get out of here, I'm going to kick all your backsides!" Amy exclaimed.

"She's perfect," Rory stated.

Amy turned towards his voice and the look of pure hope and relief in her eyes made Rory's chest ache. She nearly said his name, but Rory silenced her with a curt shake of his head. She clammed up in understanding.

"Who are you?" the other traffickers demanded.

"Sorry," Rory said, "I, um, I would…I'd like to buy her. Please. That is-I'm The—I'm Mr. Kaldex Maxnion's valet and _he w_ ould like to buy her."

The trafficker restraining Amy looked from her to Rory, incredulous. "You serious?"

"Yes. I think she's exactly what he's looking for."

The trafficker glanced towards his colleague in disbelief.

Trev shrugged. "A man wants what a man wants, Morgie."

"Best of luck to 'im," Morgie murmured. He grunted as Amy gave him a sound kick to the ankle. "Her stats should be in the database by now."

Trev consulted the tablet he still held in his hand. "Right. There it is. Height: 5'11. Weight: 50.8023 kilograms. Natural hair color: red. Above average physical fitness. Life expectancy: 98 years old. She's valued at 34,356.8764443 credits."

Rory's eyebrows rose up in shock. "34,00-"

"34,356.8764443," Trev said. "So what you think?"

"Um," Rory stammered, rocking from side to side on his feet. He wasn't nearly so good at improvising as The Doctor was, but he had to try. The plan was hinging on his ability to cope on his own. "Thirty-four thousand, I mean, that's a bit steep isn't it?"

Amy gave him a smoldering look. Normally this would be enough for Rory to take cover in the nearest bunker, however, he had a mission to complete. Nonetheless, he still took a subconscious step away from her.

"LOUISA don't lie," Trev said. "If she says the catch is worth thirty-four thousand, it's cuz the catch is worth thirty-four thousand. Your boss want to buy her or what?"

"LOUISA?"

"Our main computer. Gives us a comprehensive analysis of catches' DNA and their value down to the last decimal."

"I don't believe you." The words seemed unconvincing even to Rory's own ears, but he tried to play it off by folding his arms across his chest.

"What?" Trev demanded.

"I don't believe you. She can't be worth that much. I mean, look at her." The blond indicated to her with a nod of his head. "She's all skin and bones."

Rory was reasonably sure he could roast a ham with the heat that was rising up his neck. His wife's wrath was brimming and he could feel her gaze burning into him.

"Sorry, mate. She's 34,356.8764443 credits. If you won't pay, she'll go to auction."

"Auction?"

"Didn't you hear? We're auctionin' off the rest of the catches tonight. We caught a Gallifreyan so we're callin' it quits. Goin out of business."

Amy's eyes flared with excitement at this news. She glanced at her husband for an explanation, but he was unable to give her one in their current situation.

"Right. So," Rory shrugged, "what's the harm in lowering the price a bit?"

"Look, mate, we don't make the rules. It's against regulations to go under their calculated worth. Either Maxnion pays or-"

"Show me," Rory piped in.

"What?"

"Your computer. LOUISA or whatever. Show her— _it_ —to me. If it says she's worth as much as you say, Mr. Maxnion will pay. If not, no sale."

Amy gave him a look laced with agitation and confusion. _What the hell are you playing at?_ her eyes asked.

 _Trust me,_ his replied.

Trev looked to his compatriot with resignation. "You want to take him?"

"Me?" Morgie exclaimed. "Why me? Five more minutes more with this crazy ginge and she'll have my whole leg off."

Trev mopped his brow with the back of his hand. "Fine. You watch this lot," he motioned to the other girls, "and I'll take them."

"Good luck," Morgie murmured, shoving Amy to Morgie.

This action had Rory's blood pressure racing, but he had to remain cool and collected.

"It's fine," the nurse said. "I'll restrain her."

Trev gave a short laugh. "No offense, mate, but best leave it to the professionals."

Practically trembling with rage, Amy allowed her arms to be pinned behind her back.

Rory tried the sincerest gaze he could manage. _Trust me._

For a fraction of a second, Amy allowed the fear and anxiousness she was feeling to shine through. It wasn't long, however, before she put her shields back up.

Rory wished her arms weren't restrained so he could hold her hand.

* * *

Gil was used to dealing with eccentric types. It came with the territory of being in the business.

Once someone tried to pay for a catch with cereal box tops. Another bloke out in the Ursa Quadrant had followed him about the ship toting around a semi functional robot that he claimed was his wife.

It seemed like the more money clients had the more mental they were.

That being said, when it came to weird folk, Maxnion didn't even crack Gil's top ten. Nonetheless, his attitude towards seeing the Gallifreyan girl was odd to say the least.

 _Bloke looks like he's being forced to spend the summer hols at his in-laws,_ the captain thought.

In spite of the rich man's surliness, it was he who broke the silence.

"So, Captain," he began, "how'd you come by such a precious commodity?"

Gil shrugged. "Just luck, 'suppose. "We use baiters, these-"

"Yes, yes, mechanoids disguised as everyday things: animals, rubbish bins, tea cozies, etc. You trick unsuspecting persons into coming too close and then _zap_! they wake up here. But you have a registry for your _baiter_ s, correct? Where did it say she was taken from?"

Gil thought back to the conversation he'd had with Flash not too long ago.

"Dunno exactly," the captain replied honestly. "The baiter for her was a bit dodgy. Said she was from Old Earth."

"Fascinating," Maxnion mused. "Must be one hell of transmat beam to teleport her so many light-years away. One would almost say it's impossible."

"I know it might sound fishy, but believe me. I've a reputation for doin' honest deals. You can't afford to cross people in this business. Too much at stake."

"So you've just so happened to capture one of the rarest species of alien in the entire universe completely by accident?" The mirth in Maxnion's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Stranger things have happened," Gil shrugged dismissively.

"It was also my understanding that these baiters were specifically designed to capture humans, not aliens."

"Like I said, the baiter that caught her was dodgy. Lucky thing too."

"Oh yes, lucky, lucky, lucky."

Gil had to admit he was developing a modicum of respect for the reclusive multi-trillionaire.

Maxnion may have been pampered his whole life but he weren't no fool. This man had clearly done his research before arriving at Gil's doorstep. He would be convinced soon enough, though. LOUISA was never wrong and if she said this catch was rare, she was rare.

"Tell me, Captain, what do you know of the Time Lords?"

Gil had attempted to do more research on the weird catch and her strange planet, but it was like Morgie had said, there was hardly anything on it. They claimed to be the most sophisticated people in the universe, but nobody had heard hide nor hair of 'em in ages.

 _How great could they be if they're all dead?_

"Not much," he admitted, not wanting to fully disclose just how ignorant he was.

"I thought not. It isn't your fault, you understand. Knowledge of their kind is rare. Nearly impossible to find and completely invaluable."

Gil chuckled. "I believe it. Our computer never did stop calculating the Gallifreyan girl's' worth. We had to reboot it so we could get back to work."

"Gallifreyans are priceless. Even when they were alive, their value on the black market would have been a king's ransom. Now that they're dead, it would be incalculable."

"I'm sure you and I can come to an arrangement," the captain said smugly. "I'm willing if you are."

"That confidant, are you?"

"Like I said, I stake my reputation on it. My word is my bond."

Maxnion went silent for a bit. Gil couldn't tell if he was digesting this information or if he was trying to think of a retort.

A moment later, the strange man spoke again in a tone barely above a whisper. "If what you're saying is true, Captain, if you truly have a Time Lord aboard this vessel, you should be very, _very_ careful."

"Why's that?" the captain asked.

"Because there is one Time Lord-only one- still in existence."

"Yeah? Who?"

"He has many names. Oh, so many. The Oncoming Storm. The Predator. But he's most commonly known as The Doctor."

"The Doctor? What? Is he like some kind of secret agent or somethin'?"

"No," Maxnion shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Not a secret agent. He had no allegiances, no banners, no weapons. But he is the most powerful being in all the cosmos. Terrible dress-sense, horrible at rambling, but he's clever. I'm surprised you've never heard of him. He's infiltrated a ship like this before." The rich man stroked the metallic walls with a strange, far-off gaze, lost in his own narrative. "He liberated the cargo, absconded with their finances, then he sped away as if he were never there. It's a near thing that I came when I did. You wouldn't want him finding out you have a living-breathing Time Lord on this ship. Otherwise…well…."

Gil patted the firearm strapped to his side. "Let 'im try. I don't know anything about this Doctor, but I doubt he's bullet proof."

Maxnion smiled conspiratorially. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thank you guys so much for all the lovely reviews! I appreciate the feedback. You guys are great. Chapter Seven is already in the works!**

* * *

Chapter Six

Amy's boys had come for her.

Just like they always did.

Just like they always would.

But it looked like her troubles weren't over yet.

She didn't bother threatening the lout who was currently marching her double-time down the long corridors back to the examining room. There was no point. She'd only been doing it to keep herself from sinking into despair. That was her way. Scream until the fear is gone. Anger was a much more useful emotion and, being Scottish, it was never in short supply.

The redhead glanced to her husband, willing him to understand what she was thinking. After being married for so long, the two had practically developed their own silent language. Rory, however, kept his eyes forward.

She knew if Rory was here, then The Doctor must be too. So why was he not there with them? He must be figuring out some way to rescue her. So where did the other Gallifreyan factor into all of this?

Amy needed answers, but it would seem she wouldn't be getting any for a while. She just had to trust that her husband and best friend knew what they were doing.

The three of them arrived in the examination room just as another girl was being led out by Ed (at least Amy thought that's what she heard someone call him), crying and carrying on in something that sounded vaguely Chinese.

"Sir," Trev addressed Flash who was still sitting behind a monitor. The man's superior turned, a surprised look on his face.

"What's she doin' here?" Flash asked. "We already processed her."

"I know, sir. This is Maxnion's assistant." He indicated to Rory who waved like a moron. "He thought the price we were askin' for was too high. He wants to see how LOUISA works in action."

Flash peered from his subordinate to Rory in annoyance. At last he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Put her in position."

"Yes, sir." Trev dragged Amy over the the yellow x.

"Alright!" she cried, pulling her arm free from him. "I heard him! I'm not deaf!"

Trev allowed her to escape his hold, but quickly shouldered his rifle in case she tried to bolt.

Amy scoffed. Like she had anywhere to run.

Flash motioned for Rory to come closer and her husband ambled reluctantly over to the controls. "We had her installed a few years back by the captain's cousin," the trafficker said. "He bought it under the table from some agricultural planet that was goin' belly-up They used it to calculate prices on grains and livestock. We just pull that lever there and it calculates a value."

Flash illustrated this action and a red beam swept down from Amy's forehead to the bottom of her feet. It retracted after a second or so and a 3D model of her appeared.

"Calibrating," a female voice intoned. The 3D model turned and turned as text appeared beside it. Height: 5'11. Weight: 50.8023 kilograms. Natural hair color: Red. Extrapolating extraneous data. Please wait."

Amy's eyes shifted towards her husband. He opened his dinner jacket and appeared to be fiddling with something. However, as soon as the trafficker glanced in his direction, his hand dropped and he tried to appear as though nothing had happened.

"High levels of stamina," the computer continued. "Life expectancy: 98 years old. Calculating worth."

Rory caught her staring and she took the opportunity to give him a nonverbal talking to. _Quit faffing around, you numpty_ , she exclaimed with her wide blue eyes.

Her husband gave a helpless shrug. _I don't know what else to do!_

"34,356.8764443 credits," LOUISA evaluated.

"There you have it," Flash said, turning to the nurse with his arms folded. "So are you interested or not?"

"Um. Yeah, okay. That seems pretty convincing. But I'm not sure why-"

Amy rolled her eyes. She didn't know what the hell Rory was playing at, but she did know that whatever it was her husband was trying to do it required him to be unobserved. Right. She hadn't used this technique in a while.

She groaned low, gingerly touching the side of her head that had been struck earlier. "My head," she moaned. "My head is killing me." Amy sighed painfully before executing a perfect prat fall to the ground.

Flash's chair creaked as he shot to his feet. "What's the matter with her?" he demanded.

"I-I don't know," Trev replied. "She was fine a second ago."

The superior cursed and clomped over to where she lay.

Amy schooled her face into a mask of calm. If only her drama teacher, Dr. Ackerman could see her now. He would have given _her_ the part of Scarlet O'Hara rather that brownnose Mildred Thursdale. Maybe then the audience wouldn't have been snoring in the bleachers come Act Three.

The guards continued to argue back and forth and Amy desperately hoped that Rory would understand what she was doing.

 _Come on, Rory. Whatever you're doing, do it quick._

* * *

At first, Rory's nursing instincts kicked into overdrive the moment he saw his wife go down. That was until he realized she'd been fine up until this moment. Her gait had been steady; she hadn't vomited or slurred her words. He could practically hear her voice in his head.

 _I'm faking, stupid face, get on with it._

"Right," he whispered. As per The Doctor's instructions, he screwed off the top half of the sonic, exposing three metal prongs. Now he just had to find a place to plug it in. He glanced at the two guards who were currently hovering over his wife. He had seconds.

With sweaty palms he scanned the console looking for an opening. So far it was all streamline surfaces. He swore mentally. Nothing up top. The nurse threw a glance over his shoulder, before crouching on his knees and checking the bottom.

Sure enough a cluster of wires were tangled together under the console. Miraculously, he located a port that had nothing plugged into it and shoved the sonic into it. The green light at the tip of the sonic pulsated but, mercifully, made no noise. It would take ten seconds for the virus to be loaded, The Doctor had said.

Each of those seconds felt like an eternity.

Sweat gleamed on Rory's forehead as he watched the traffickers. They were armed, heavily armed. He'd noticed their rifles before, but their weaponry was more sophisticated than he initially realized. They had knives as well as handguns.

If this didn't work out, there was a very good chance the nurse would be resembling Swiss Cheese soon. He didn't want to consider what they might do to Amy.

The sonic stopped glowing. He immediately retrieved it from the underside of the console and stowed the device away in his pocket.

A sigh of relief escaped him. They had roughly twenty minutes to get out before the virus was activated.

Rory cleared his throat. "Um, let me have a look. I have some medical training."

The two parted and allowed him to kneel beside her. It didn't take much for Rory to launch into nurse-mode. His fingers rested on her neck, finding her pulse: strong and consistent.

Right on cue, Amy fluttered her eyes open.

"Wha' happened?" she murmured.

Rory pretended to examine her pupils. "Looks like your basic dehydration exasperated by her head injury," he said sagely. "She'll be fine."

She sat up, clutching her head and moaning softly. He looped an arm around her and pulled her upwards.

"Are you alright?" he whispered discreetly into her ear. Amy nodded.

The traffickers regarded him expectantly, arms folded.

"So do you want her, or don't you?" Flash demanded. "We've got other catches to process before the night's done."

Rory moved his hands so they were on either side of Amy's arms, resisting the urge to hold her tight. Judging by the stiffness in her posture, she was experiencing the same issue. There would be plenty of time for that later. The nurse had no plans of allowing anything like this to happen to his wife again.

With as much authority as he could muster, the Roman said, "we'll take her."

* * *

The captain relieved Barkley who was standing guard outside Showroom 1 and punched in his own access card to gain admittance. _Here it goes,_ he thought. _Moment of truth._

"This is her," he said to Maxnion.

The eccentric multi-trillionaire's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Mentally shrugging, Gil pulled the latch and the airlock hissed open.

They'd put the Gallifreyan girl in the showcase: a seventy square feet glass cell sealed shut by a metal airlock door. The catch was sitting on the floor of it with her eyes closed and legs pulled to her chest, muttering something to herself. Probably a prayer, Gil thought.

Maxnion approached the case, his face an emotionless mask, and watched the girl as she babbled.

"Hello?" Maxnion said softly. He pressed against the glass, but she took no notice of him. When this didn't work, he lightly wrapped against it.

The girl's eyes remained closed, oblivious to his existence.

"Audio dampeners," Gil explained, removing a tablet from his utility belt. "She can't hear us unless I switch on the sound manually with that." He gestured towards a large control panel stationed at the center of the room. "She can't see you neither, it's all one-way."

"What for?" Maxnion asked.

"Keeps the catches calm." The captain indicated to a camera secured to the wall directly across from the catch's cage. "That camera is connected to our communications network. Once we go live our bidders have the option to see her for themselves. We provide pictures beforehand but some of them like to see 'em movin' about. Problem is catches see the camera and start actin' mental. Screamin' for help and the like."

The mulit-trillionaire worked his jaw, bristling at this explanation. "Hold these auctions often, do you?"

"Not really, but the girl's a special case. Like you said, not too many Gallifreyan's runnin' 'round."

"No," Maxnion muttered, his words coated with bitterness, "there aren't."

"Here." Gil held out the tablet for the Maxnion to take. "Everything you want to know: Blood temperature, life expectancy, hearts rate-"

"What's her name?"

The captain frowned, caught off-guard by the question. "What?"

"Her name," Maxnion repeated, peering inside the cell. "What is it?"

Gil studied the man for a moment, wondering if the man was having a laugh. However, Maxnion didn't crack a smile or give any other indication he was joking.

"Dunno," the trafficker replied.

The wealthy man spared him a scathing look.

The captain shrugged defensively. "I could check if you want."

"No need," he murmured, eyes shifting to the control panel. "I'll do it myself."

* * *

After Clarice's evaluation, they dragged her into a room where two cloaked figures stood waiting for her. She was so stunned by the sight, she hardly noticed the guard leaving and sealing the door shut.

A small mat with various items sitting on top of it was spread out on the floor: combs and brushes, hair tonics, manicure and pedicure supplies, and makeup.

She vaguely remembered the captain mentioning "the Edos girls" who were supposed to fix her up. These two must be them. Clarice wasn't at all sure how to present herself. Should she demand answers? Ask them about themselves? Try to gain their trust?

Interrupting her thoughts, the shortest of the cloaked beings took a step forward, pulling down her hood. Underneath her cowl was a shock of purple hair and feminine coal black eyes. Small ridges rested across her nose like scars. Flaps of skin rose and fell on the side of her neck.

No, Clarice realized, not skin _. Gills_. This woman had _gills_.

They opened every few seconds, tasting the air before lying flat against her neck once again.

The tallest did the same, revealing her own face, which was much like the shortest only her nose was longer and straighter.

Aliens.

Amy was right.

She had been abducted by aliens.

The floor rose up to meet her, but the shortest was able to catch her just before her head connected with the ground.

Clarice didn't recall much after this. She knew her clothes had been removed at one point, her eyebrows plucked, and her nails filed. She thought she'd seen the flash of a camera, but she couldn't be sure of it.

Consciousness didn't fully return to her until they lifted her from her sitting position on the ground and more or less threw her inside the glass prison. Upon slamming the thick doors shut, all sound cut out.

Before, she could make out the subtle humming of the ship's engines, the occasional boot against the hard metal floors or crying, but here she could hear nothing. She glanced around, but she was blind to everything outside this prison. It was completely shrouded in darkness.

She pressed her hands against the wall, focusing as hard as she could to see past the thick tenting, but all that was visible were her own panicked eyes reflecting back at her.

There was no way out.

Each passing moment the walls appeared to shrink just the tiniest bit. The air became thinner. Normally, Clarice could easily tell how much time had passed, even without a clock. But in this prison, she had no sense of temporal progression.

It was only her, alone with her erratic breathing and chilled blood.

Nausea filled her stomach. Each breath felt like a drudgery.

Aliens existed. Aliens had kidnapped her. She was trapped on a space ship.

Tremors wracked her body and gooseflesh rose up on her arms even as sticky sweat formed on her palms. Feeling weak, Clarice lowered herself onto the floor and pulled her legs to her chest. Her head swam as tears pooled in her eyes.

From across the way, her reflection stared back at her despondently. It was a pathetic image. She looked small and childish even in makeup and adult clothing. Like a toddler that needed their mommy.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw something more, the waving of a cloak tail. Her hearts stood still.

"No, no, no," she whispered. "Not now. Not now."

There were no other visible indications of a presence, but she knew that He was there.

Waiting.

Watching for her in the shadows.

Through the ensuing panic, she remembered the words that kept her sane.

"Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard." Even in a whisper, her words were loud in her ears without anything to absorb the sound. "Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard."

 _Gallifrey_.

Clarice shut her eyes. "Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard."

 _Remember._

She balled herself up like a contortionist trying to fit inside a small box. "Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard."

 _Remember._

"Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard. Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard. Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard. Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard. Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing -"

A feedback noise crashed through her small prison and Clarice screamed, throwing her arms back to brace herself against the glass wall. Her chest heaved with fright as she stared at the ceiling. Finding no answers there, she peered to her side and was surprised to find she could now see outside of her cell.

From behind a long control panel she could make out a tall young man in a tuxedo and bowtie. He had a head full of thick brown hair, sharp features and green eyes. Standing about three feet away from him was the ship's captain.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "My name is Kaldex Maxnion. I was wondering if I could have _your_ name, please."

His accent was English, just like the other traffickers. However, it was obvious from his attire he was a few tiers higher up on the social ladder than they were. Was this man the captain's boss? Did captains have bosses.

"My…my name?" She was only just able to stand up without falling.

"Yes, your name. Unless it's something boring like Mrytle or Petunia. Never did fancy a Petunia. Especially when they were a Zygon disguising themselves as a prime minister in the hopes of conquering West Darkenzia."

"Zy….gon?"

"Of course, if you don't have one I could always call you Fred." The man smiled patiently, but his eyes were hard. "Love a Fred."

"I'm Cl-Clarice," she replied softly.

"Clarice," he repeated, tasting it like a food critic at a restaurant. "Brilliant. Literally. It's the Germanic variant of the Latin word _Clarus_ , meaning bright, clear, famous…Bit of a strange name for a Time Lord, however."

There was an implication in his tone, but Clarice couldn't think of what it was.

Kaldex motioned for the captain to come closer. With a questioning frown Gil did so and handed the man what looked to Clarice to be an iPad.

The well-dressed gentleman accepted the device and quickly began scrolling through the data using one of his long bony fingers. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed in approval. "Binary vascular system. Good. Advanced mental capabilities. Brilliant. High resistance to viral diseases. Yes. Life expectancy of….26,895.3456 years. Blimey. That's ages, even for a Time Lord." He glanced up from the tablet, scrutinizing her. "Let's get a better look at you."

Clarice bit her lower lips, gaze swiveling to the captain.

"You 'eard 'im," he replied, unsympathetically. "Closer."

She approached the front of her cell with feet of lead. She imagined she looked like a clothes dummy in a shop window.

The bowtied man made an amused noise, a half-formed laugh. "Brilliant. You know," he clasped his hands together, "for someone who should be dead, you look smashing."

Heat rose in the girl's cheeks and her palms grew sweatier.

"Satisfied?" the captain asked Kaldex.

Kaldex held up a finger to silence him.

"I'm told you were taken from Earth," he went on. "Why were you staying there? You're a proud race, you Time Lords, why hole yourself up on boring old Earth?"

"I'm…I'm not."

"She's got amnesia," Gil interrupted. "She don't remember anything about Gallifrey."

"Really? Fascinating. Tricky thing, amnesia. Had it once or twice myself. Terribly inconvenient. Especially when you're trying to remember your cover story."

Clarice said nothing. She had to bite back the flood of protests that were filling her mouth like bile.

 _I'm not a Time Lord. I don't even know what that is. Please let me go. I just want to go home._

"Captain," Kaldex spoke. "I'd like to have a chat with lovely Clarice here in private."

The captain met his gaze dubiously. "How much of a chat are we talking?"

"Twenty minutes? We have so much to discuss. Consider it a trial run. I'll make it worth your while."

Clarice pressed her hands against the glass beseechingly.

 _No, no, no, no. Please don't leave me alone with him._

Gil lifted an eyebrow at this promise. "Yeah?" He spared her one last glance. "Alright. Twenty minutes."

She could do nothing but watch as the captain turned and walked out, leaving her alone with this strange man.

* * *

 **AN: I know. Another cliffhanger. The chapter I had planned originally was twice the length of this, but I thought it would be more interesting to split it into two parts. Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Holy. Shit. I am so sorry. This chapter was not supposed to take this long. My only excuse is that I wanted it to be the best it could be and I ended up writing this about 40 times. Sadly, this is only a slight exaggeration. It's still not exactly what I was wanting it to be, but I'm hoping that you guys enjoy it. Again, sorry for the wait, but here it is at last. Thanks to all you cool peeps who are still sticking with it.

* * *

Chapter Seven

Clarice assumed Kaldex would immediately launch into a full-scale interrogation as soon as the ship's captain left. However, the strange man merely planted himself in an office chair, his long legs resting on the console, and pivoted the chair from side to side.

 _Squeak._

For three minutes she'd heard nothing save for the irritating noise crackling in from the speakers of her cell.

The moment was so fraught with tension Clarice felt like a rubber band being stretched to the far corners of the room.

 _Squeak_

Clarice clenched her fists together, silently mouthing the words of her calming mantra.

Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing with Romana in the backyard.

 _Squeak._

Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda-

 _Squeak._

Grandma's house. Tea on the veranda. Playing-

 _Squeak._

She cuffed her hands over her ears, watching him as he stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, arms folded across his chest.

What was he doing?

 _Squeak._

What did he want?

 _Squeak._

Why wouldn't he just talk to her?

"Did you get all that?" Kaldex asked.

Clarice nearly jumped out of her skin at this unexpected address. "What?"

"My message," the strange man said in reply. "Time Lords are telepathic so I thought I'd make conversation. Curious thing though, I can't sense your consciousness." His head turned slightly in her direction. "Are you mind-blind, Clarice?"

"Mind…blind?"

"It's when a person's telepathic abilities aren't strong enough to communicate with other psychic species. Of course you've probably forgotten. Amnesia and all that."

Psychic abilities. This man was an alien, too.

She searched for any visual clues that would hint at his true nature—forehead bumps, scales, indentions in his skin—however, outwardly, he appeared just as human as she was. Uneasiness filled her belly as she thought of what may lie beneath the surface of his humanoid appearance.

He smiled a reptilian smile. "Oh I hate a monologue, give us some feedback."

Clarice suppressed a shudder at this cold expression. His eyes were depthless and hypnotic and, if she weren't mistaken, older than the rest of his body. She developed a nauseated feeling peering into them.

Before she could gather the courage to reply, he depressed a lever with the sole of his foot. The action was followed by a loud metallic _clank_ and _hiss_ from over Clarice's shoulder. She whirled around to discover the door to her cell was slowly opening, seemingly of its own accord.

The cool air from outside wafted into the now exposed prison. Her pulse throbbed frantically in her throat as if she had stumbled upon an unlocked tiger exhibit.

"Come here, Clarice," he beckoned, his voice coming through both the outside of her cell and the speakers together.

Clarice's blood chilled. She would act like she hadn't heard him. She would stay here and be as still as possible until she disappeared.

"Clarice," the twin voices spoke in concert. "Come. Here."

Clarice clenched her eyes shut, every bone trembling as her trepidation reached a fever pitch.

With the reluctance of a novice learning to tight-rope walk for the first time, she passed through the threshold of her glass prison.

The dress the alien women had given her was soft and comfortable, but it was thin and stretched over her like a second skin. She felt naked as she turned round to face the strange man, rubbing her arms compulsively.

Her breath hitched in surprise. Kaldex was now standing upright, his fingers laced behind his back. His shoulders were hunched slightly, but this made him no shorter. Even bowled over, he dwarfed her by at least a foot. A forelock cast a shadow over his long handsome face. The tension rolled off him in waves so strong she could feel them in the same way she could smell ozone in the air just before a rainstorm.

As their eyes locked with one another the edges of his mouth curved into a parody of a smile.

Clarice looked towards the camera that was dangling from the ceiling pointed at what had been her prison. Perhaps the traffickers were watching them now. Good. They wouldn't want him to hurt her before she could be sold, right?

The camera drooped like a plant that had died of thirst. Clarice's gaze darted to Kaldex whose hand hovered over the controls.

"I'd prefer to keep this conversation private, if you wouldn't mind."

Clarice minded.

She minded very, very much.

"So," she flinched as he clapped his hands together, "who are you working for?"

Clarice blinked uncomprehendingly, thinking he must be joking. However, the punchline was lost on her.

He stared her down for several moments but she couldn't find the words.

Kaldex sighed through his nose, sinking back into the chair and massaging his temple. He crossed one lithe leg over the opposite knee, closing his eyes and stewing in agitation. When at last he met her gaze again, his eyes and brow narrowed with impatience

"What?" he demanded, allowing the massaging hand to fall limply to his side. "Did you lot think you could just show me a bunch of falsified statistics and some girl in a fancy evening gown and expect me to believe she's a Time Lady?" he chuckled humorlessly.

Clarice swallowed hard, her palms sticky with sweat. "I'm…I'm not working for any-"

"Quiet."

Her mouth snapped shut obediently.

"In fairness, it was a valiant effort. It's nearly impossible finding data on Time Lord biology. Your employer is very well informed _Your_ performance, however, is less impressive, I'm afraid. Your pupils are dilated, your shoulders are rounded and I bet if I took your pulse right now your heart would be racing. You're scared. Scared witless. It isn't easy to frighten a Time Lord, they're a pompous, ancient lot. Whereas you…"

Kaldex inclined and Clarice drew back even though there was plenty of room between them. His eyes were shrewd, scanning her as if she were a product on a conveyor belt at Goldman's.

"You're young. Early twenties is my bet. Dark circles under your eyes, you haven't been sleeping. Either you've a stressful job or relationship or…" He paused for dramatic effect. "Both. You've run into some financial troubles as well, _but_ job comes along and offers you an exorbitant amount of money. All you have to do is stand in a glass and pretend to be a species no one has ever heard of and wait for your boss to spring the trap. Simple."

Clarice's her mind spun with the string of consciousness spewing from the alien's mouth. For the first part he was so accurate she wondered with terror if he _actually_ could read her mind after all. It was as if he had sliced her open and was dissecting her person bit by bloody bit, labelling and tacking each organ to a board for scrutiny.

However, the longer he droned on, the more off the mark his examination became.

Boss? Trap? What was he talking about?

"Who is orchestrating this? Wasn't the Captain, so there must be someone higher than him on the ladder. Someone I've yet to meet."

"I…" Clarice stuttered. "I don't—"

Kaldex climbed out of his chair, taking slow deliberate steps towards her. Clarice's knees knocked together and it took everything in her not to run to the door, screaming for help. He didn't stop until his face was centimeters away from her own. Heat blossomed in her cheeks.

"I'll give you one last chance," he warned lowly. "Believe me when I tell you you'd better take it."

"I don't know what you mean." She swallowed. "They-they took me from work. I was about to go home. They trapped me here. I didn't even know aliens exi—"

Before she could blink, Kaldex launched himself at her, throwing her up against the wall. The wind rushed out of her in one big gust as his hands pinned her arms above her head.

" _Don't_ play games with me," he snarled, hands clamping down harder, cutting off her blood circulation. Clarice's hearts galloped, filling her ears with the sound of her pulse. His breath was hot on her face.

"I have watched worlds burn and empires crumble into oblivion. I've brought whole civilizations to their knees. Races have been wiped from existence because of my influence. And now you have taken someone _I love_ and made a mockery of my home with this costume party. You will tell me who you are working for, or I cannot promise you will ever walk off this ship again."

Clarice's breathing became erratic as if she were trying to inhale through a tiny hole. The edges of her vision darkened and tears rolled down her cheeks, obscuring her vision.

"TELL ME!" he roared.

"I don't know," she sobbed, "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please let me go."

She lost herself in his eyes. So cavernous and antediluvian. Just like His. As old as the Earth, as ancient as the mountains. Lightheadedness took over until she thought she might faint.

There was no chance of appealing to him.

No means of escape.

This man was going to kill her.

* * *

The Doctor held the girl fast to the the wall, his hearts slamming in a frenzy of anger and violence. The girl squirmed under his grasp but he would not relent. Not now. Not that she had taken someone he loved with all his hearts and then had the audacity to mock him.

He would show them. He would show them once and for all that he was not someone to be trifled with. He had been too merciful in the past. Too forgiving. He had planned on getting the Shadow Proclamation or The Church involved, but now that he was seeing this _pathetic_ display, this gross parody of his home-world, he wasn't sure he could grant them that pleasure.

No. Not today. Today he would make an example of them.

The Doctor had checked out. This was the Oncoming Storm.

Through the maelstrom of wrath, through his unbridled rage and fury, he felt something under his grasp, fast and heavy like war drums _. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom-boom._ The tempo of his hearts.

But no.

They weren't _his_ hearts.

They were _hers_.

The spell was broken in an instant.

The Doctor released his iron-like grip and for a moment there was no sound save for the girl's labored breathing.

"You have two hearts," he marveled quietly.

The girl said nothing in reply as her wide, terrified eyes held his gaze.

"Clarice," he said gently, cautiously easing towards her, "are you alright?"

The Doctor reached out to touch her and she gave a cry of alarm, shielding her face with her arms. A shuddered sob burst from her lips.

The Time Lord recoiled as if she'd burned him.

The girl cried silently no doubt resigning herself to whatever cruel fate he had in store for her. His throat went dry at this revelation.

 _Oh, bravo, Doctor. You made a young girl cry. For an encore will you be stealing sweets from a baby?_

"Clarice…I'm sorry. I didn't think…." A weary sigh slipped out of him as he combed a hand through his hair. "Yes, well, that's the trouble isn't it?"

She lowered her arms just slightly, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes and leaving silver trails on her face. Her body trembled and he realized, belatedly, that she was most likely shaking from cold as much as fear.

"Bit nippy in here," he observed in a casual tone.

She made no response, her posture guarded and ready for another assault.

The Doctor shrugged off his dinner jacket and proffered the garment, nevertheless, the girl made no move to accept the olive branch. Her eyes fluttered to the jacket and then back at him, confused. He could see the gears turning in her mind. Was this a trick? Was he going to offer her comfort only to attack her again?

"It's alright," he insisted gently. "No one is going to hurt you."

The girl still refused to move, body primed with nervous energy begging for release.

"Of course not. Quite right. Why trust the help of someone who just attacked you? But it's better to be frightened and warm than frightened and cold, eh?"

She peered at the clothing distrustfully and The Doctor did his best not to make any sudden moves. He was reminded of when he'd tried to tend to a wounded deer on Cervidae. The poor thing's eye was oozing purple slime (that creature's equivalent of blood) from a wound it received from human poachers and would not go near him no matter how much he tried to telepathically communicate that he just wanted to help. It took over an hour of crouching in the glade with his palms full of phosphorescent berries for it to eventually come to him and take modest nibbles of his offerings.

Luckily he didn't have to wait nearly as long for Clarice.

At long last, she cautiously reached out like someone rooting around in the dark and took the collar of the coat in her hands. With awkward, shaking limbs, she wrapped it about her person like a security blanket. The Doctor was not a large man, but the clothing swallowed her up. She looked like a child trying on her father's coat.

The image made The Doctor's hearts deflate with shame.

How had he let it come to this? How had he gotten it _so_ phenomenally wrong?

"There," he said after a pause, "better?"

The girl wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffed, securing the jacket tighter around her.

"Sorry," he threaded his fingers behind his back and smiled wanly. "I'm usually not this rubbish at introductions. Let's start over, shall we? I'm The Doctor."

There was no mistaking the glimmer of recognition in her eyes at the mention of his name, but he suppressed the urge to call her out on it.

"You said your name was Kaldex," her voice was course with emotion.

"No, 'fraid not. The real Kaldex Maxnion is on holiday in the outer reaches of Vandelena Phistron, one of his private solar systems. He's also four-foot-five, weights about ninety kilos and—between you and me—is not nearly so handsome."

A ghost of a smile scampered across her face before vanishing as swiftly as it came, replaced by uncertainty.

"But that's not important right now. No. The important question is who are _you_ , Clarice?"

As if anticipating another tantrum from him, she took a preemptive step away. "I'm just me."

"You have two hearts," he prompted carefully.

"I was born with them." Her fingers clamped around the collar of his jacket. "It's a birth defect."

"But where are you from? What species are you?"

"Earth. Human."

"No," he shook his head, "impossible. Humans can't be born with two hearts. They lose them after the primordial stage of heart development. You can trust me, Clarice, but I need you to be honest with me."

"I _am_ human," she insisted only with a touch more assertiveness. "I was born on Earth. I've always lived on Earth."

He smiled faintly. "I think Silurians would take exception to that remark. You don't have to be human to live on Earth."

"Silurians?" Her eyes widened with alarm.

"Silurians. Big reptile people. Live under the Earth's surface. Never mind that." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Two hearts. Why do you have them?"

"I'm _human_. Why won't anyone believe me?" she demanded desperately.

"I'm sorry, Clarice, I really, really am, but you aren't—cannot be—human. I've been around, me. Seen many things, but I've never met a pure-blood human with two hearts. It's a genetic impossibility. You may have been raised on Earth, but it isn't your home. You have to have come from elsewhere."

The Doctor had expected some degree of distress from his evaluation, but he hadn't anticipated the look of pure devastation, the unfathomable loneliness, that settled on her face as her shoulders slumped in defeat.

She looked as if she would crumble to the ground if left to her own devices.

"It's okay," The Doctor said, grasping her gently by the shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with not being human."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she further crumbled under the weight of her despondency. With being different.

 _Alien._

Unable to help himself any longer, The Doctor engulfed her in a warm hug. "Come here, you."

The girl surrendered to the embrace, so starved for compassion she didn't care where it came from. His right hand cradled the back of her head as the other rubbed between her shoulder blades. Tears soaked the front of his shirt as her body trembled.

A muffled whimper came from his chest and he carded his fingers through her hair, hoping the physical contact would calm her. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect and her silent despair turned into pitiful weeping. His jacket fell from her shoulders and crumpled to the ground, forgotten.

"I know what it's like to feel alone," he spoke into her ear. "I'm not human either."

If this news alarmed her, she gave no indication of it. He wasn't even sure if she could hear him. Poor thing. The Doctor dropped a kiss into her hair, squeezing her just the tiniest bit. She responded by burying her face deeper into his chest like a small child.

"I'm a Time Lord," The Doctor went on in the softest of tones. "The very last one in existence. My people were wiped out long ago, culled entirely from the face of history. I understand your pain, Clarice, I do. But I have to know why you were taken. _How_ you were taken."

He received no reply other than more sobbing and the tug of her hand gently clutching the fabric of his shirt.

The Time Lord closed his eyes with a nearly inaudible sigh.

There was nothing for it. He would have to let her cry herself out.

The Doctor waited patiently, trying to puzzle out what it was she could possibly be. There were a few humanoid species with two hearts he could think of at the top of his head.

There were the Plucartrians, but they had silver wings and breathed poison so they were out. There were also Apalachians, but they had lavender colored skin and smelled faintly of lemon. Then there were the Yestafarians, but they were seven-foot tall bat people that couldn't live anywhere but in catacombs beneath their planet's surface due to their sensitive skin.

Then, of course, there were the…

 _No._

Just one. It could be possible. Just this once.

 _No. No, no, no, no, no, no. You always think it will be different,_ he reprimanded himself _. You thought the same when you received that distress cube from The Corsair. You always think it will be different and it never, ever is._

The Moment had done its job. His years of solitude were evidence enough of that. And yet….and yet…

 _And yet, nothing. They're all dead. Murdered by your hand._

He knew he should give it up. Dismiss the notion entirely. But once hope took root in his chest it was so very difficult to weed it out.

"Clarice," he began hesitantly.

 _Don't. Seriously. Don't._

"I need to ask you something very, very important. Listen to me carefully because I will only say this once."

He delicately pried the young girl away and she stared back at him with puffy, crestfallen eyes. Tears continued to fall down her face as she looked on, uncomprehendingly.

The Doctor shut his eyes, fighting a torrent of voices screaming at him to stop. He had no business speaking their language again. It was a blasphemy for him to utter it after what he had done.

His consciousness ranted and raved, but he had to do it. He had to know. He had to rule it out as a possibility.

" _Can you understand what I'm saying_?" he asked in Gallifreyan.

 _You stupid, stupid old man. What could this possibly accomplish? Why are you so determined to break your own—?_

"Yes," she replied in a fragile tone.

Planets halted in their rotations.

Meteors froze in their lofty trek across the canvass of space.

All of creation held its breath.

The silence might have lasted forever had The Doctor not broken it himself. "What?"

"I can understand you," Clarice repeated, her throat still dry from crying. "Is that bad?"

* * *

" _You know what I am saying?"_ The Doctor's voice was so low it was nearly inaudible.

"Shouldn't I?" Clarice asked, wiping at the moisture on her cheek with the heal of her palm.

" _You understand everything? Every word_?"

"Yes." She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

The color drained from The Doctor's face. " _Impossible._ " He ran a shaky hand through his hair. " _That is—that is just…absurd._ "

"Why is it impossible?" She took an involuntary step backwards as his excitement grew.

" _You cannot know this language_ ," he insisted, stepping three paces away from her only to spin back around and advance towards her again. _"It is the sacred language of the Time Lords. No other species is capable of deciphering it_."

Her large, iridescent eyes widened and her brows knit together in alarm and confusion. "I don't know what that means."

"It means…." He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. "It means you're a Time Lord."

Clarice blanched. "But…but you said—"

"You have two hearts. Two hearts and you can understand Gallifreyan. _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_. That's what good ol Artie used to say. Excellent bloke. Couldn't turn his head about Spiritualism, though. I tried to explain that the apparitions he was communicating with were actually just time distortions, but once he got an idea you couldn't stop him. I should really pop over and apologize for our last outing. Take note: never rest your legs at a Spiritualist ceremony. Bumped a table and there was a whole commotion about—"

The Doctor stopped mid-rant and threw his arms around her, nearly sending the pair of them toppling to the floor. Clarice's body tensed as his body collided with her own. Her fears dissipated, however, the moment she realized the Time Lord was shaking.

" _You are a Time Lord_ ," he whispered hoarsely. " _You are a Time Lord and you are alive_."

"What?"

The Doctor pulled them apart, eyes glistening with emotion. "I sent out millions of messages, all throughout time and space. Parallel worlds, alternative timelines, outside of reality itself. For centuries I've followed whispers and chased shadows. How can you be here? How can you still be…breathing?"

The raw anguish on his face and his quivering jaw rendered Clarice temporarily speechless.

"I didn't—I _don't_ know." Her thoughts were too jumbled together to form a complete sentence. "I'm not a Time Lord, I'm sorry. I'm…I'm just…"

He caressed her face with his thumb, freeing a strand of hair that had plastered onto her cheek. "You're a miracle. The most precious thing in all of creation."

She wrenched his hand away. "I'm _not_. I'm sorry, I'm not, I'm—"

The Time Lord gently grasped her hands and pressed them against his chest.

"Feel them," he instructed.

Clarice prepared to pull herself away from the strange man and end this insanity once and for all. But then, through his shirt she could feel the fast palpitations of his heart. No…not _heart_. Heart _s_. He had two. Just like…

Clarice's hearts went into her throat and she could hardly breathe. Fear surged through her as cold as ice water.

"It's okay," The Doctor murmured reassuringly, tears budding in his eyes. "Don't be frightened."

"You're…you…have…"

"Sssh." He moved to press a feather-light kiss to her temple, but the girl tore herself out of his grasp before his lips could make contact.

Clarice didn't know if she wanted to pass out or scream or both. Her stomach did summersaults and her legs wobbled bone-lessly.

"You're the same…" she stuttered. "The same as me."

The Doctor put up a hand to mollify her. "Clarice, I know you're scared, but you're safe now. I promise you. You have to trust me."

"I don't even know who you are!" she cried.

"I told you," he said patiently, "I'm The Doctor."

"What does that even mean?!" she demanded.

"It means that you are protected. It means that _on my life_ , nothing will happen to you. But, Clarice, I need you to put your faith in me. I can only save you if you trust me."

She shook her head, incredulously. "Five minutes ago you wanted to kill me."

The smallest of smiles curved the edges of his lips. "A lot can happen in five minutes."

"No," Clarice backed away. "No, I can't. I can't."

The hurt that came over his face nearly made her lose her resolve. But no, this was too much. Too much too quickly. Moments ago he'd been hell bent on tearing her limb from limb and now he was wanting them to team up and….and what?

No. She could not trust in this man. She may have crumbled in a moment of weakness, but this—no— she wouldn't do it.

He was just like any other doctor: professing a desire to help while relishing in the act of playing god and toying with people.

The Doctor took a step forward and Clarice immediately hedged away. "Clarice… _Please_."

"Don't come near me." She had meant this to come out as a threat but it was nearly a plea.

The Time Lord swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Clarice, I got it wrong, let me make it right."

"You can't," she whispered.

All her life she'd been different. Freakish. Wrong even. But she'd been human. She'd at least had that. But now everything was gone. Her view of the world was gone. Her sense of safety was gone. Her humanity was gone. He had taken it away from her.

She wasn't a human. She was one of _them_.

An alien.

"I can if you will let me. Clarice, if you don't accept my help there are far worse things coming for you. The traffickers are only the beginning. You, you're valuable. The rarest, most priceless commodity in all the known universe. The only other living Time Lord in all of creation. You can't possibly comprehend how precious you are." Against his will, his voice broke on the last syllable.

Alarm and sympathy chased each other across her face as his desperation became all the more evident.

"We're the last," he spoke in nearly a whisper. "You and me, we're all that's left. It was a bad day and bad things happened and I can't explain it all now, but the point is we need each other. _I_ need you by my side."

The Doctor's eyes shone bright and earnest. "Please."

Clarice hugged herself, frozen in indecision. Her compassion compelled her to rush up to this man and bid away the heartbreak and pain that glimmered in his eyes, but her feelings of self-preservation kept her rooted.

What if he was crazy? What if he couldn't help her?

Perhaps all the years of being alone had driven him insane. Just the thought of it wrung Clarice's hearts. How horrible it must have been for him to believe he was alone for so long.

 _That doesn't mean he isn't dangerous. That doesn't mean he can get us out of here._

But he—as much as she didn't want to admit it—was her only hope. The only one in this impossible scenario that could possibly give her a way out.

 _You'll never see your family or friends again._

The thought was too painful for her to comprehend.

The choice was obvious. She would have to dismiss the agonizing truth about her identity later. Returning to her old life was more important.

Clarice drew herself up, pinning back her shoulders to make herself look taller, more confident. It must have worked because The Doctor mirrored her posture, though his lips were parted slightly in anticipation.

She gave a weak nod. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" The Doctor cocked his head to the side slightly.

She tightened her hold on herself in the hopes of squeezing whatever self-assurance she had to the surface. "Yes. I forgive you…and I…I'll I trust y—"

The Doctor closed the distance between them in an instant, kissing her spiritedly on every available inch of her face save her lips. Clarice's face blushed a cherry red at this unexpected affection, her calm façade destroyed.

He pressed his forehead against her own, gazing deeply into her eyes. "Thank you."

Clarice smiled faintly and the strange alien smiled back. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and it wasn't long before they spilled down his cheeks in earnest as his lower lip trembled.

Clarice said nothing, too stunned.

"Sorry," he murmured, brushing away the moisture with his sleeve. "It's just that…this is usually the bit where I wake up."

"You aren't dreaming."

"I know," he whispered, looping a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're really here." He kissed her on the forehead, taking her face in his hands. "And now I'm going to save you, Clarice, and everyone on this ship. You've put your faith in me and I swear I will not let you down."

She nearly cried out when The Doctor lifted her up off the ground and swung her about in a circle. As soon as her feet were planted on the ground once more she found herself nestled in his arms. In spite of it all, Clarice felt the tremors in her arms and legs stop for the first time since she'd been released from her prison.

Maybe he could take her home. Maybe there was a way out from this hell.

Whoever this man was, whatever he might be, he was going to rescue her.

She would be saved.

* * *

Gil was getting antsy waiting on Maxnion. He hadn't expected their "twenty minutes" to actually take twenty minutes. In hindsight he realized he'd made a gamble by leaving Maxnion alone with the catch. There was always the possibility he would try to back out of the deal. Find some excuse not to take her.

It frustrated Gil to no end that Maxnion kept dancing around the arrangement, trying to poke holes in his claim. He'd been unprepared to sell this sort of merchandise and his pitch had been less than polished, but any fool could see that this girl was a Time Lord.

Whatever the hell that was.

Gil thought about returning to the cell to demand a bid from Maxnion when Flash's voice came in on the communicator. "Gil, come to the bridge."

With a grumble, Gil grabbed for his communicator, placing it close to his lips. "How many times do I got to tell you. It's _Captain_ , not Gil."

"Gil, come to the bridge now."

"Are you forgetting who calls the shots 'round here?" Gil demanded.

The sizzling sound of static was his response.

"Little runt," he groused, glancing towards Show Room 1. It wouldn't be long now before Maxnion's twenty minutes were up. Then the deal of a lifetime. Whatever it was could wait.

But it niggled at Gil, the urgency in his second-in-command's voice. It wasn't unusual for him to slip and call him Gil, but the way he did it so unapologetically and with a dash of fear in his voice….

Bleedin' Hell.

Gil gave Showroom 1 a parting glance before shuffling up the stairs two at a time to the bridge.

When he arrived a short time later, about six of his men were all milling around. All eyes fell on him. The only person seated was Flash at the controls. His gaze was sullen, paranoid.

Although they were doing their best to keep a veneer of calm, most of them looked on edge. Yaldez, one of biggest guys on his team, had a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

This had all the makings of a mutiny.

The captain discretely flexed the fingers of his gun hand, prepared to reach for his firearm at the slightest sign of trouble. He narrowed his eyes and studied all of them; however, none of his guys appeared as though they were about to reach for their weapons.

"Easy does it, lads," he remarked, gazing about the room. "Where's the funeral?"

None of them answered.

"What's going on?" Gil asked Flash.

The second-in-command worked the controls, causing the large home screen to warp. "This transmission came in a moment ago," his voice wavered.

Gil situated himself at the captain's seat. "On screen, then."

Flash did as he was commanded. Within seconds, the screen filled with the image of a large metal creature with a telescope for an eye.

"ARE YOU THE CAPTAIN OF THIS VESSEL?" it screeched in a grating electronic voice.

A million curses passed through Gil's mind in a span of a second.

A Dalek.

A bleeding Dalek.

He pressed his lips tightly together, then relaxed. "Yeah," he said with far more confidence than he felt. "What can I do for you, Dalek?"

"WE HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT YOU HAVE A TIME LORD ABOARD."

 _Keep your head_ , he coached himself. _You've gotta keep your head_.

"Yeah, that's right. You interested in buying?"

"YOU WILL HAND OVER THIS TIME LORD OR YOU AND YOUR CREW SHALL BE EXTERMINATED."

Gil felt the collective stares of his crew boring into his back. He worked his jaw and reclined further in his captain's chair.

"Let's approach this like gentlemen, shall we? You want the girl? That's fine. I'm thinking something to the tune of, hmmm, four trillion credits."

"THE DALEKS DO NOT MAKE DEALS WITH HUMANS. YOU SHALL GIVE THE TIME LORD TO US OR YOUR LIVES SHALL BE FORFEIT."

"How would that look, eh? Allowing you to show up on _my_ ship and take _my_ merchandise? I got a reputation to uphold."

"Are you mad?" Flash demanded. "They're the Daleks. They'll kill us, _all_ of us if you don't give her up. Have you not heard the stories?"

Gil rose to his feet and roughly shoved Flash backwards.

"That girl is worth more than any of us have ever made in our entire lives. Don't be daft, I'm not giving her away for free." He stared the Dalek right in the face, challenging it. "Not now, not ever. Either pay four trillion credits, or no deal."

The Dalek remained silent, considering. Its eyestalk rose up and down, emitting a soft humming noise. "THEN PREPARE TO BE BOARDED. WE SHALL EXTRACT THE TIME LORD BY FORCE."

The communication link went dead.

Within seconds, the ship careened sideways and a loud explosion sung through the air.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** **Hey guys! Long time no see. Many thanks to all of you have been reading and sharing your thoughts. I really appreciate it! Again, I apologize for the slow update time. I, unfortunately, have a lot of adulting to do in my day-to-day life so output has not been abundant. That AND I just haven't had much luck getting this chapter to behave the way I would like. What can you do? Regardless, it's here now. Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy the latest installment!**

* * *

Chapter Eight

"So," Clarice began, gently disentangling herself from The Doctor's embrace, "what happens now?"

"By now I reckon Rory will have introduced my virus into the ship's mainframe" the Time Lord explained. "It will send a message to the nearest Church vessel that there's a human-trafficking ship full of people in need of rescuing."

"A _Church_ vessel?" Clarice asked.

"This part of the galaxy is notorious for having human-trafficking rings," he went on. "The Church has had to branch out further to keep them under control. They should have a ship within reach."

Clarice stared at The Doctor blankly, but her confusion went unnoticed.

"Right," the Time Lord said, rubbing his palms together. "The power will die soon which means Gil and his men will have nowhere to go. Can't deploy escape pods if there's no power. Fortunately, I've extended the TARDIS's air-shell to encompass the entire ship so we needn't worry about oxygen depletion."

"So we just…wait?"

Her impatience to be home was reaching near intolerable levels. She didn't care anymore that she essentially lived in an over-sized closet and was barely able to feed herself. All she wanted was to curl up in her twin bed with a cup of steaming hot tea and fall into a coma.

"Wait? No, no, waiting is rubbish. I'm going to make an offer to Gil and buy us some more time _. You_ , Clarice, are going to hop, skip back in your cell."

Clarice's body went ridged at the suggestion, her gaze wondering to the glass display case. Nausea welled in her stomach at the recollection of being cut off from the rest of the universe, adrift in a sea of darkness.

"Clarice," The Doctor spoke gently. She turned and in a flash he was standing over her, head bent so low their foreheads were nearly touching. "Clarice, this is the part where I need you to start trusting me."

A protest was poised on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly swallowed it back. What was the point in arguing? It wasn't as if anyone else was going to come along to make her a better offer. Like it or not, The Doctor was the only ace she had.

She nodded stiffly. "Okay."

"Don't you worry." The Time Lord delicately brushed his thumb against her cheek. "You'll be out and among the stars before you can say 'where's he got to now?'"

Clarice forced a feeble smile.

The Doctor beamed in return planting a tender kiss on her cheek before sweeping his discarded dinner jacket off the floor and slipping his lanky arms through the sleeves.

"Off you go, then!" he declared confidently.

She immediately ducked her head to hide the heat blossoming in her face.

"Off I go," she echoed weakly, reluctantly meandering towards what was to be her prison yet again. The moment she stepped through the threshold of the showcase, The Doctor swept from behind and pressed the door shut without ceremony. Every hair on her body stood on end in surprise at this sudden action. Heat travelled up her neck and back, prompting small droplets of sweat to prick to the surface of her skin. She felt like an acrobat looking over the scaffolding down at the sand floors below.

The only thing that alleviated the light-headedness creeping up on her was her ability to see the outside world. The Doctor had mercifully left the audio dampeners and blinders off so she could clearly observe and hear what was going on from beyond her cage.

"Back in a mo!" the alien shouted, his voice like a 1920s radio announcer over the speakers. He wiped the dust from his sleeves with the flat of his hand and theatrically straitened his bowtie. "And _breathe_!"

Clarice inhaled deeply at his behest, unaware that she hadn't done so in a long time.

The Doctor adopted a sly parting grin before straitening his collar and slipping out of the room. The _clank_ the door made following his departure had such a finality to it Clarice's hearts trembled.

"Doctor?" she spoke into the empty room.

She waited for him to turn around; to poke his head through the thick metal doors at the mention of his name, but he didn't come back. She was alone.

Her breath created a faint mist across the glass as her breathing grew unsteady.

She wiped her sweaty palms against the front of her dress, ears pricked for even the softest of sounds. If she focused hard enough, she could hear the humming of engines and heavy footsteps that seemed miles off. Precious little else, however.

 _What if this is a joke?_ a taunting voice whispered in her mind. _What if he's going to just leave you here?_

Clarice shut her eyes to mute out the growing hysteria.

"He'll come come back," she told herself. "He will."

 _He's a doctor. They're all liars._

Clarice clenched her hands into fists as she swallowed past the growing sense of unease knotting her throat. She would have to detach herself from the situation, she reasoned. She needed her anchor now more than ever. Taking another deep breath, she stepped away from the glass wall.

She imagined herself as a six years-old at her grandparent's farm, the last summer she spent with them before they both passed away. She sat on the veranda next to her grandmother, watching the sun make its lofty trek over the horizon. Together they sipped on warm lemon tea while Clarice's border collie, Romana, curled up beside her. No words were exchanged between the two kindred spirits. None were needed.

It was just them and the beginning of another blissful day filled with clear air and cool lake waters.

She pretended that the synthetic lights beaming on her were tendrils of sunlight caressing her face.

Nothing existed outside of this moment.

The world was at peace.

 _BANG!_

An explosion of color danced before her eyes as her head connected painfully against the glass of her cage.

She crumbled to the floor in a heap.

* * *

Gil was many things, but he was no fool.

Since day one of this operation, he'd contrived ways to not only increase his profits but protect them tooth and claw as well.

He'd augmented his ship with parts he'd salvaged and collected by travelling to backwater planets. He'd shaken many a greasy hand that offered him stolen weapons from hijacked or wrecked space crafts. Gil had made damn sure when the time came where his back would be against the wall, he could fight his way out.

But he had not prepared himself for this.

This was bloody mental.

The Dalek ship threatened to crush his own vessel like a soda can underfoot. The captain felt every impact as if it were raging through his own body.

The shields had been activated but they were as useful as a parasol in a hurricane.

"Torpedoes are locked, Captain!" Chavez said from his chair adjacent to his leader

"Fire!" Gil commanded.

Chavez discharged the weapons and the projectiles fired on a collision course to Dalek ship. However, seconds before the torpedoes could make impact, they were engulfed by an invisible energy field and held in stasis.

The captain's blood pounded in his ears as he watched the shells go from hot to critical all while trapped within their invisible net. They exploded in massive balls of fire, growing exponentially until they flared out. The field surrounding them dissolved and his expensive weapons were reduced to ash. The Dalek gleamed back at them, completely unharmed.

Gil struck the arm of his captain's chair with a bellow of rage.

Moments later, the enemy ship fired another bolt of ion energy, pounding them like a kettle drum.

"Gil!" Flash cried, flinching as the console before him began to spark. "We have to evacuate! They're too powerful!"

"It's _captain_! You hear me, you bloody pillock! _Captain_!" He threw a look over his shoulder at his weapon technician. "Fire again!"

The ceiling above him spat hot showers of light as the ship trembled.

"Captain!" Gregor shouted. "Look!"

Gil's gaze swung over to the screen and what he saw made every bone in his body shudder with rage. Small cannons ejected from the Dalek ships, propelling at impossible speeds towards them.

"Fire!" Gil shouted. "Fire everything!"

But their cannons could not lock onto them. Their ship was too big, too clunky to destroy them. These projectiles were agile and swift as arrows.

Upon making contact with the ship's hull they latched on like leeches, skeletal metal legs clasping onto the exterior. After he caught sight of lasers carving into the hull's hard flesh, he realized what they meant to do.

So this was how they wanted to play it. They thought they could just crack open his ship like a nut and take all he'd worked for for ten bloody years? They thought they could steal his cash cow from him? If they wanted her, they could have her. After they'd pried her out of his cold dead hands.

Gil shouldered his weapon, sparing a glance towards Flash who still regarded him with fear and alarm. "Activate the contingency protocols," he said resolutely.

Flash's eyebrows rose. "What?"

Gil turned the rifle on the former Church operative, inspiring him to jump back in surrender. "Activate the bloody protocols or I'll blast you to Hell!"

Flash swallowed, his fingers working with frantic clumsiness over the controls. "Contingency protocols activated." He gave his captain a look mired with disdain. "Sir," he added as an afterthought.

Gil clenched his fists, cracking the knuckles. In spite of how little the other catches were in comparison to the Gallifreyan, it sent a shiver up his spine having to do away with all that money.

As they stood gathered round in the bridge, poisonous gas was filling every available chamber in the catch holds. It wouldn't be long before they'd start sputtering and coughing, their lungs filling with the stuff till they puked themselves with blood.

It was a bleeding waste.

A distant cry emerged from within the ship's halls. "EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

"We have to get out," Ren, one of his youngest crew members blurted. Thick drops of sweat poured down his face. "We have to leave!"

"No one's leaving until I get the Gallifreyan girl!" his captain retorted.

Without warning, Ren leapt from his post and vaulted for the exit. Gil felled him with a single shot to the back of the head and the young crewman collapsed face-first to the floor, his noggin oozing a dark pool of blood.

Gil rounded on the rest of his men and they instinctively shrunk back. "Any else of you lot care to mutiny?" His question was met with cagey looks, but no one dared challenge him. "Well, I'll tell you what. I'm the only one with the key code to activate the escape pods. Find the Gallifreyan girl or nobody gets off this tin can. You got that?"

Heads bobbed in understanding.

"I said, you got that?!" he thundered.

"Yes, sir!" the skeleton crew answered with gusto.

"Strap on. We're going into Hell."

* * *

Once it had been agreed upon that Maxnion would purchase Amy, she and her husband had both been led to a nearly featureless room save for a metal bench on the opposite end of the wall. Rory tried to guess what it might have been used for prior to Gil's acquisition of the vessel but couldn't think of anything.

Rory's eyes drifted subconsciously to the rifle their guard, Trev, was currently sporting. The nurse was unsure if this security detail was a precaution to ensure Amy did not attack him, or if this was just their way of preventing him from absconding with their property without paying. Whatever the reason, the Roman's nerves were on edge.

Amy was uncomfortably still, seated on the hard, metallic bench, her hands cuffed behind her. They'd decided that even "dehydrated" she was too dangerous to be left unrestrained and so they'd found a pair of pressure cuffs. Her brow was furrowed in a dark scowl, but Rory could see that she was trying to mask her fear.

It was killing him not being able to touch her. If he thought he could do it without being noticed, he would sonic the cuffs off her wrists in a heartbeat. Nevertheless, he had no choice but to stand a respectful distance away, arms folded. He couldn't give the game away. He couldn't let on that he knew her. Even though every muscle in his body was crying out for him to wrap her in his arms and not let go.

It was decided then. As soon as they were back on Earth, Rory was putting his foot down. They were staying home. No more romping about the universe, no more close calls or getting captured.

Then again, if Amy wanted to stay there was precious little he could do to persuade her otherwise. Her stubbornness was unmatched by any person he'd ever met and she was unflinchingly loyal to her imaginary friend.

The nurse didn't have long to think more on the matter.

A deafening roar rent the air and the humans were flung haplessly to the ship's deck.

Rory opened his eyes with an inaudible groan, black dots spotting his vision.

An alarm screamed from above and the space around them was bathed in red florescent light.

"BATTLE STATIONS," LOUSIA announced. "BATTLE STATIONS. BATTLE STATIONS."

He turned to his wife to discover she had landed solidly on her front, unable to soften the blow of her fall with her hands. Amy's face contorted in pain as she rolled onto her back.

Instinctually, he appeared at her side to inspect her for head wounds.

"Are you alright?" he yelled over the alarm.

Amy stared at him, eyes blurred and disorientated.

Rory's heart skipped a beat with worry. "Amy," he cradled her face in his hands. "Look at me."

It would be their luck for her to develop a real concussion after pretending to have one only minutes ago. Her blue eyes trailed off and her lips moved. Her words were swallowed up by the cacophony around them, but Rory could still make out what she was saying: Stop him.

Rory turned towards Trev who was only just coming to his feet with clumsy determination, the weight of his armor impeding his accent. The trafficker's weapon had been thrown several feet away.

There was no time to second guess.

Rory turned Trev about face by the shoulder and, in once succinct motion, connected his knuckles against the trafficker's face with all his might, knocking him unconscious instantly.

Once the guard had been dealt with, Rory wrenched the sonic out of his pocket and unlocked Amy's handcuffs and they sprang off her in a snap. The Scotswoman awkwardly came to her feet, her husband at her side to steady her.

"We have to find The Doctor," Amy insisted as loudly as she could. Her hands clasped firmly on his shoulder, keeping herself balanced.

It wasn't long before a familiar cadence swelled up, slowly overwhelming the screeching alarm.

"EXTERMINATE!" they shrieked. "EXTERMINATE!"

The blood drained from their faces as they exchanged frightened glances. They hoped that they had misheard, that it was a trick of their senses, but they both knew.

"Daleks," Amy whispered. "Those are Daleks."

Rory peered over his shoulder towards the door. By the sound of it, the genocidal creatures were growing dangerously near.

What could they do?

Where was The Doctor?

Rory looked to his wife and found the same questions flashing in her eyes.

"Listen," Rory spoke over the commotion, "we have to get back to the TARDIS. The Doctor can catch us up."

"What if he can't!" Amy argued. "What if this whole thing was a trap?"

It made sense. What were the odds that traffickers had found another Time Lord at the same time that The Doctor had come to liberate one of his friends? It was so painfully obvious to him now that Rory felt a pang of guilt for suggesting their claims could be legitimate. Of course their heartsick friend would jump at the opportunity to find a living member of his species. It was the perfect trap.

The ship shook like an animal trying to dislodge a pest from its fur. They clung to each other to prevent the other from sprawling to the floor in all the mayhem.

Part of the roof caved in with a violent crash, showering debris around them.

There was no more time for hesitation.

Rory grasped his wife's hand and together they plunged into the corridor.

Outside the harsh metallic cries blended together in an ear-splitting racket. Discharging rifles joined the chorus as the traffickers attempted to regain control of their ship.

Rory tried to recall the vessel's geography but found it nearly impossible. The surge of Daleks bleeding in from the open wounds of the ship forced them to double-back and take alternative routes. They ran up stairs only to scurry back down to avoid being greeted by a deadly bolt to the chest. Any hope of discovering a familiar route was lost. Every hall began to look the same.

Rory thought his lungs would burst but he dared not stop to catch his breath. It would mean a sudden death for them both.

"Rory!" Amy cried.

Rory turned to his wife just as the power died with a low dirge and the ship pitched sideways, slamming the two of them into oblivion.

* * *

"Clarice," a voice insistent and imploring beckoned from behind a cloud of muted colors. "Clarice!"

Shadows hung long and fuzzy as she tried to regain consciousness.

From behind her fluttering eyelashes, a blurry figure stuck his face centimeters away from her own. Blood red light washed over him, flashing repeatedly as a feminine voice droned from above like a god.

"Clarice, are you okay?"

Gradually the fog lifted around the hazy figure's appearance and she could see clearly it was The Doctor. However, this clarity brought with it an unendurable agony that lanced through her head. She gave a cry of pain as invisible nails sunk into her brain. The agony caused bile to fill her throat and she was blind to everything else.

"Clarice, talk to me," The Doctor pleaded, holding her face in his hands. She felt something warm and wet slither down her cheek. The scent of copper soon followed. "Can you stand?"

A moan of discomfort wormed its way out of her as the bracing anguish in her head persisted. He must have taken this as a "no" for the next thing she knew her body was lifted from the ground as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Something's gone wrong," The Doctor declared. His voice was barely audible over the mayhem ensuing around them. "This ship is under attack. I need to get you lot back to the TARDIS."

Clarice didn't have time to process this information before The Doctor had carried her out of the showroom and into the corridor.

She could make out a firefight going on a deck or more above them. They sounded like tanks being driven into a metal wall mixed with what she could only guess was another weapon. It reminded to her of a sound-effect on Star Trek. Like an energy weapon discharging.

Electronic voices chanted the same word like a mantra. " _EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE_!"

The Doctor halted in his tracks and she sensed a tremor of foreboding shiver up his arms. "No," he whispered fearfully. "No, no, no, no. Ponds."

The Doctor looked towards Clarice who regarded him blearily and then at the opposite wall. Clarice was mentally present enough to know he was conflicted, but she couldn't tell why. He paused for a long time beneath the stairwell before charging onward, struggling only a little to carry both himself and his new charge up to the next deck.

They were on level ground when a colossal bang resounded and the ceiling above them caved, sending them falling heavily to the floor.

Pain blazed in Clarice's back and head until she could see nothing but the red lights. The overwhelming odor of sulfur mixed with burning metal invaded her nostrils.

" _Doctor_ ," she croaked feebly. The darkness yawned menacingly around her. She coughed harshly, body aching. With herculean effort, she rolled herself onto her front and called out for him again. " _Doctor_?"

Her gaze roamed about, unfocused. In spite of the drumming of her pulse in her ears, she could still make out the war-cries as they grew in proximity and urgency.

"EXTERMINATE!"

"EXTERMINATE!"

"EXTERMINATE!"

The noise was familiar to her, she realized, like a lullaby not heard since childhood.

"EXTERMINATE!"

Why was this happening?

"EXTERMINATE"

Where had she heard this before?

"EXTERMINATE!"

That is when she felt it.

The surety of it cutting through her confusion like a butcher's knife.

Every molecule in the air crystalized. All the tendons in her body trembled, vibrating like harp strings.

Panic sent her hearts palpitating so fast she could hardly breathe.

 _He_ was here.

She sensed His presence lingering deep within the shadows. In her peripheral vision, she saw His tall imposing form circling her in the ether, the tail of His cloak dragging the floor.

A doleful moan escaped as she attempted to slide her injured body like a slug across the now gritty floor.

He wove around her, His voice a low baritone. The words were formless but they filled the hollow of her chest. With weak hands, she attempted to crawl further away, to leave the magnetic pull of Him behind. Even as she squirmed, she was helpless to resist the chaos unravelling behind her eyes.

Clarice was small, trapped in a forest of legs scrambling in all directions. Their cloaks of red and gold flashed like banners before her eyes. They scattered in all directions, but were helpless to escape. Each of them were slaughtered indiscriminately, falling to the dirt never to rise again.

She gasped sharply at the onslaught of death and fear filled her lungs like freezing water.

A woman's corpse dominated her vision, blue eyes frozen open in a permanent stare of terror. Clarice rocked her back and forth to no avail, tears scoring her cheeks.

The cold fear mingled with boiling hatred bubbling in her stomach.

Her hearts were two anvils in her chest, war drums keeping time with the rising of blood and ire brewing in her like a hurricane. At the climax of her growing hysteria, His words took shape at last.

 _Kill them,_ He coaxed her. _Kill them all._

"Kill," she repeated hoarsely. Sanity slipped through her fingers like sand.

 _Kill them._

The darkness closed in around her.

Clarice was gone.

* * *

When Amy woke she no longer heard the pulsing of the ship's engines, nor the screams of the alarm. The quiet loomed around her like a living thing, broken only by her uneven breathing.

She wondered blearily if she was dead, but reasoned if she was it was doubtful her body would ache so much.

"Rory?" she whispered softly, Scottish accent more prominent than usual.

Her call went unanswered.

The Scotswoman pulled herself up onto all fours with a grunt of exertion and peered about in the darkness. Trapped in a pool of inky blackness that seemed to stretch on forever, she had no choice but to wait agonizingly for her eyes to adjust to the lack of illumination.

She moved forward on scraped hands and aching knees, feeling about for anything remotely humanoid. She recalled a haunted house she'd visited as a child where she'd been asked to place her hand in a plethora of weird household items- spaghetti, uncooked meats- all masquerading as eyeballs and brains. The redhead feared as she rooted around she may encounter something similar only this time it would be very, very real.

As her eyesight gradually improved, she could see a dark shape crumbled like a sack of rubbish some feet in front of her.

Amy crawled towards the motionless form to find, to her relief, it was indeed her husband. His left leg was bent at an awkward angle and their shoulder had obviously been dislocated. A thick stream of black liquid pulsed from the man's head. The sight caused her heart to skip a beat.

"Rory?" she beckoned again, more desperately. Tentatively she placed her hands on his torso and gently shook him.

His head lolled, but he gave no reply.

"Rory, wake up," she demanded. "Rory."

She waited for a moan. A groan. A sigh. Anything. Yet Rory remained stalwartly silent, his features never altering.

Fear sunk its talons into her heart.

Amy didn't know what to do. He'd taught her how to bring him back once when he'd been drowning, but she didn't know how this time. She didn't even know what was wrong. Did he have a concussion? Did he have internal bleeding?

What would he tell her to do if he was awake?

"Come on." Her shaking took on an urgent tempo like CPR. "Come on, baby, wake up."

She might as well have been shaking a shop dummy.

" _Wake up_ ," she croaked. "Wake up, you stupid bloody idiot. Wake up!"

She brushed her lips against his in a desperate kiss, her hand caressing his face. The blood from his temple was warm and sticky to the touch. When she parted from him, he didn't stir. He didn't lean forward to claim her mouth again as he always did.

Rory's eyes stayed shut as if he were in a deep sleep. A sleep from which he would never wake.

The realization came like a bolt to the chest.

Her body was so paralyzed by the shock she didn't even notice the gleaming blue light slowly progressed towards her from behind a cloud of debris. It wasn't until the noise of gears whirring pricked her ears that she turned to face the creature looming beside her.

"YOU ARE AMELIA POND," the Dalek observed. "YOU ARE AN ASSOCIATE OF THE DOCTOR'S!"

For a moment Amy's mind went completely blank. She stared at The Doctor's greatest enemy numbly.

They were caught. In spite of everything they had survived in the past, how far they had run, they were trapped. There was no way of escaping.

This was the end.

"YOU ARE TO BE EXTERMINATED!"

Amy Pond scrunched her face into a dark scowl, lips trembling and eyes burning.

"Well," she sniffed wetly, "get on with it."

The Dalek paused. "I DO NOT UNDERST-"

"SHUT UP AND GET ON WITH IT!" she roared.

The Dalek regarded the human silently as she met its gaze head on.

Amy saw her own warped reflection in the glass of the creature's eyestalk as it focused. She didn't recognize herself at all. The doppelganger's orange hair and face were covered with a thin coat of debris. Small gashes streaked across her cheeks. Slowly—painfully-the bitterness and disdain that had hardened her eyes, turned to despair. A multitude of tears spilled endlessly down her chin to the front of her blouse as gentle sobs shook her slender frame.

Amy wept with her, ignoring the sting of salt water against the cuts on her face. She bowed her head, unable to bear the sight of her double any longer.

"VERY WELL," the Dalek stated in a manner almost human. "PREPARE TO BE EXTERMINATED!"

She searched for a happy image: The Macarena, her wedding day, anything to keep her final moments from being quite so painful.

There were so many adventures to chose from, so many planets, people she loved dearly. She'd experienced more, felt more, than most did in their entire lives.

Nevertheless, she was able to find one: A scene from her childhood. One that was never too far from her mind or her heart no matter the circumstances: A madman in tattered clothes sitting across the table from her, eating fish fingers and custard from a bowl.

" _Amelia Pond. Like a name in a fairytale._ "

Amy closed her eyes as the last of her tears fell.

"EXTERMINATE!" the creature cried.

Blackness.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

The sound of fluid lazily plopping to the floor slowly roused The Doctor from his deep, dreamless slumber.

The pounding in his head was near intolerable as consciousness crept up on him like a thief in the night. Even through his jacket he sensed the fine hairs on his arm raising and bumps form across his extremities. Cold air swathed him, clenching his already stiff muscles. Reflexively, his hands came up to his arms, rubbing them up and down to radiate some semblance of warmth. A debilitating ache thrummed through his body like an electrical current.

With a groan, his eyes reluctantly fluttered open only to be greeted by the sight of pure emptiness. Even his breath, which he felt leave him in heavy puffs, was swallowed up by the infinite pool of nothing.

Right. Abject darkness. Bruised body. Bloody cold temperatures.

This was a rude awakening if ever he'd had one.

Inelegantly, he rolled himself onto his front only for a jolt of pain to shoot up his back and paralyze him. With a whimper, he pressed his forehead against the freezing floor until the spell passed.

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

It was an obnoxiously persistent sound, but what was worse was it reminded him of something he'd forgotten.

Blimey, what was it?

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

Water? Waterfall? River? Rain? Tears?

Tears spilling from heartbreakingly lonely topaz eyes.

Fragments of memory swept through his mind like a tornado: Long brown hair. Small frame. Red dress.

 _Clarice._

The Doctor's hearts leapt frantically and stole his breath.

"Clarice?" he called into the darkness, ignoring the clenching of muscles in his neck.

His cries went unanswered.

Blindly, he patted himself down until he found his pocket containing a torch. When at last he grabbed the familiar device and switched it on, he was blinded by the sudden burst of illumination, his retinas feeling as though red hot nettles were sinking into them.

The Doctor scrubbed at them with his sleeve until the stinging subsided.

His torchlight touched on a scene of disaster.

Metal plates had tumbled from the ceiling, leaving wires to hang exposed like the tendons of a gutted animal. A large pipe had detached itself from the bulkheads on the wall, dripping the remnants of some foul smelling liquid onto the floor, accounting for the dreadfully monotonous sound.

Blatantly ignoring the stiffness of his limbs, he stumbled onto his feet, swinging the torch from one corner of the hall to the other.

The Time Lord looked for a crumpled form lying amongst the wreckage, but there were no signs of her anywhere. Not a scrap of clothing, not a shoe, no nothing.

"I had her," he insisted. "I had her. She was right there!"

She'd been injured. He remembered that. She'd struck her head and he'd had to carry her.

He listened carefully, but the only din breaking the silence was that of his own uneven breathing and the annoying dripping of the engine fluid leaking onto the floor.

Plumes of white fog escaped him with every exhale. A chill wracked his spine, sending him into near convulsions.

Why was it so bloody cold?

He smacked himself on the forehead. Of course! Stupid Doctor! His virus had cut off the electricity meaning the heating systems had been deactivated as well.

But, no, no. Impossible. The temperatures shouldn't have dropped this much so soon. He had only been out for a moment. He was sure of it.

The Doctor glanced at the watch on his wrist to reorientate his time senses to find the clock's face had been punched out, leaving only shattered glass and a dented minute hand.

Instinctively, his hand plunged into his breast pocket in search of his sonic. Then it came back to him like a blow to the face: He'd given it to Rory.

A chill ran up his spine completely unrelated to the cold.

 _Ponds…_

The Doctor's throat tightened, the pronounced silence confirming his worst fears.

 _No. Not them. Never them._

" _AMY_!" he bellowed.

The Time Lord waited a beat for a response.

None came.

* * *

The Doctor roamed through the labyrinthine corridors like a vengeful spirit, shining his torch on the ashen faces of the corpses littering the floors.

The traffickers were slumped where they'd fallen, most still holding their useless weapons. It had been a quick slaughter. The ramshackle crew obviously hadn't accounted for a battle on this scale. They didn't stand a chance. Perhaps he should have pitied them, but at the moment he really couldn't manage it. There was no time for that.

At the rate the temperatures were plummeting, it would only be a matter of time before anyone still living would freeze to death. Even with his superior Time Lord biology and spiked adrenaline he was feeling the ill-effects of the rising cold. His joints tried to lock and his muscles became stiff as if the blood pulsing within his veins was attempting to turn to ice.

Nevertheless, The Doctor didn't falter in his flight, even as the freezing air rushed past his chapped face.

The Ponds and Clarice were here somewhere.

He had to find them. He didn't care if he had to break apart the bloody ship bulkhead by bulkhead.

 _You did this. You couldn't just leave them alone. It wasn't enough you stole their daughter away from them and ruined their lives forever, you had to take their lives as well._

"Shut up," he murmured, breathless. "I'm busy."

Unknowingly, he increased his gait until he was nearly running, stumbling over debris and the dead.

 _And poor Clarice, left to fend for herself against the Time Lords' greatest enemy. And after you promised she'd be safe. Do you think she blamed you for dooming her to such a terrible fate? Do you think she begged them before they killed-?_

 _"DOCTOR!"_ a voice shouted over the sound of his inner torment.

The Doctor stopped so sharply, he nearly toppled forward onto the hard metal ground.

He waited _,_ hearts thudding painfully against his ribcage. He waited longer, fully expecting the weight of his disappointment to crush him.

" _Doctor_?" the plaintive voice cried again. " _Doctor, please, where are you_?"

"Amy?" he whispered hopefully. The speaker had an accent, a _Scottish_ accent. Louder he shouted. " _AMY_!"

" _Doctor_! _Doctor, help! Please! I can't see!"_

The Doctor bolted towards the sound of her mournful cries, heedless of his surroundings.

 _Amy is alive. Mad, impossible, Amy Pond is alive._

The Doctor was euphoric to the point of hysteria when his body collided painfully with a large metal body, throwing him back against the wall. He was only just able to keep a firm enough grip on his torch not to send it flying. Succinctly, he shone it a the roadblock.

It was a Dalek.

He flattened himself against the wall, blood pounding in his ears.

" _Doctor_!" Amy cried. " _Doctor_!"

" _Stay where you are_!" he shouted.

The Doctor's chest heaved but he tried to keep a cool head. Amy was still out there, alone and terrified. He couldn't die now, she needed him. He promised himself he would get her home. If he couldn't save Clarice, he had to save his Pond. The universe owed him that much.

"Go on, then. Get it over," he goaded the alien. "You've been waiting for this moment your entire life. Have at it."

The Dalek remained completely inert, ensconced in darkness. Even its dome lights remained unlit.

The Doctor peeled himself away from the wall, chancing a step in the creature's direction. When the Dalek did not react, the Time Lord raised his foot experimentally and gave the Dalek's midsection a decisive kick.

It rolled backwards like an unmanned trolley until it collided with a _clank_ against the wall behind it.

The Doctor stared at the alien, uncomprehendingly.

It was dead.

How was it dead?

Even in the dim light he could see its outer shell was undamaged.

Nevertheless, it was the only possibility.

" _DOCTOR_!"

He shook his head and ran in the direction of her cries for help.

The disembodied voice led him to a wide corridor where he discovered his best friend. A thick coat of metal shavings covered her body and her long red hair was disheveled nearly beyond recognition, but she was alive. She flinched at the light from his torch, shielding her eyes from the glare with a cut hand.

"Amy," The Doctor sighed with relief.

He didn't give her time to reply before kneeling in front of her and enveloping her in a tight hug. She wrapped her own arms around his middle in return, shivering violently all the while.

"It was dark," she croaked. "It was so dark and cold and I couldn't see."

The Doctor cupped the back of her head and shut his eyes, soaking in the realness of her and trying to rub some warmth into her. Her naturally warm human body was freezing to the touch. "You're okay. You're alright."

A groan cut through the tender moment.

The Doctor and Amy broke apart to discover Rory lying supine on the ground about four feet away. The nurse squinted as the Time Lord shone his lighting apparatus in his face.

"Rory The Roman," The Doctor beamed. "Still with us, I see."

Amy crawled towards the crumpled form of her husband with the desperation of one trapped in the desert in search of water. Without warning, she pitched forward and claimed her husband's lips in a passionate kiss that caught both of her boys off-guard. When she parted from him, tears trickled from her eyes and nearly froze on her cheeks.

"Amy?" Rory said softly, any confusion gone in the face of concern.

She sniffed and hastily wiped the wetness away with the heel of her palm. "I'm fine," she grumbled with embarrassment, hugging herself tightly against the cold. When she saw The Doctor was still staring with equal concern, she doubled down. "Seriously, I'm fine." She made a vague gesture towards Rory. "Fuss over him. He's hurt."

Reluctantly, The Doctor tore his attention from the Scotswoman and scooted closer to attend to her wounded husband. He combed the light over Rory's body, trying to gauge how much damage he'd sustained in the attack.

"Dislocated shoulder," he diagnosed. "And by the look of it you've sprained your leg."

He patted the nurse's thigh and Rory arched his back, yelping in pain.

" _Yes_ ," Rory hissed through clenched teeth, vein popping in his forehead. " _I can see that_."

"Sorry," his friend murmured. "Nothing I can do about your leg without the TARDIS infirmary, but I can at least sort out that shoulder."

He gave Rory a pointed look and waited for permission. Rory huffed out a white cloud and gave him a stiff nod. Carefully, The Doctor held Rory's injured arm at a ninety-degree angle away from his body.

"Ready?"

"Not particularly," Rory replied.

The Doctor pulled and the nurse screamed as all his pain receptors fired at once. For a moment, he toiled in anguish; however, relief gradually eased over his stress-scarred features.

"Thanks," he wheezed.

"You'll experience some swelling, but—"

"Yeah, I know. Nurse, remember?" Rory shut his eyes for a moment to regain his bearings. "I don't remember it being quite this cold earlier."

"That would be the power," The Doctor explained succinctly. "The TARDIS's extended airshell is currently providing us with oxygen and artificial gravity but I didn't account for us being incapacitated for this long."

"Or us being born down upon by a swarm of Daleks," Rory added.

The Doctor tried not to wince at the twinge of bitterness in his companion's tone. Of course he had a right to be angry. It was simple rescue mission, it should have gone off without a hitch. Yet he'd failed to act and now it was a wonder any of them had survived.

"Hold on," Rory murmured. "Is that…?"

The Doctor and Amy's gaze followed Rory's towards a formless heap in the shadows.

It was a fallen Dalek.

Ooze drooled out of the crack in its dome and crystalized on the floor in a clear puddle.

"What's the last thing you both remember?" The Doctor asked, keeping his eyes trained on the metal casing as though it could return to life at any moment. His mind travelled back to the dead Dalek he'd confronted only moments ago.

Rory groaned softly from the pain that wracked his body. Any movement sent a shock to his system, but his body's natural resistance to cold was preventing him from being still. "I d-don't know. We were running and…now w-we're here."

"No," Amy argued. "I-I remember there was something else. There was a blue light and…and…I don't know. I can't remember." She turned to her Raggedy-Man for help. " _Why_ can't I remember?"

"Human brain," The Doctor reasoned absent-mindedly, "you couldn't cope with the trauma so your mind edited it out of your memory."

He felt her eyes on him, studying him to see if he really believed his own assessment or not. Regardless, she didn't call him on his bluff. "How did it die?"

"Dunno. It could have been killed while the ship was under fire, could have self-destructed, died of boredom. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I get you both back to the TARDIS safely while I look for Clarice."

"Cl-Clarice?" Amy asked, cinching her arms tighter around her torso. "You-you mean the short American girl, yeah?"

The Doctor's eyes widened as he grasped her firmly by the shoulders. "Did you see her? Did she get away?"

"I-I don't know. The last time I saw her, she was being taken by the traffickers. Doctor, why do you need to know about Clarice?"

The Doctor released her, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "Help me get Rory onto his feet."

"Hold on. Should-shouldn't we get him like a p-pair of crutches or s-something? Make the TARDIS m-materialize around him?"

"No time for that," he said. "The temperature is dropping at an accelerated rate. Even a Time Lord can't survive it. Help me, Pond, please."

The Doctor was grateful when she obeyed in spite of her reluctance. Truth be told, it would have been faster if he had just gotten the TARDIS and materialized around them like Amy suggested, but he couldn't risk leaving them in the dark, especially not with how cold it was. The Old Girl didn't like short trips and if he was even an hour late re-materializing…

Amy followed his queue supporting Rory so that together, The Doctor and Ponds, were able to awkwardly shift through the wreck and ruin.

They were a sight to be sure.

Rory was barely able to hobble along, even with both of them keeping him upright. His body wracked with pain and cold, breath expelling in shallow gasps.

And he wasn't alone. The Doctor noticed the fading pallor of Amy's skin and the multitude of cuts and bruises marring her pale flesh. She made nearly inaudible grunting noises as they marched on.

Rage boiled his blood.

They were hurt because of him.

He had hurt them.

Again.

"The tr-traffickers mentioned something about a Gallifreyan onboard," Amy stuttered, interrupting his reverie. "Is it her? Is Clarice a Time Lady? Like a real, pr-proper Time Lady? It wasn't all a trap for you?"

For a moment The Doctor didn't answer.

He imagined Clarice lost and afraid in the shadows, desperately patting the walls to find something—anything— to tell her where she was, or huddling alone, muffling her sobs of terror until being inevitably discovered and—

"Doctor?" Amy pressed.

The Doctor shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his mind.

"She can understand Gallifreyan and she has a vascular system that perfectly mirrors my own," he said at last. "I spoke with the captain, but he didn't seem to have any idea what she was or where she came from. Otherwise he would have realized there are dozens of races that would do anything to get their hands on her."

There was a lull in the conversation. He was hoping that she'd let it go, put the pieces together and it seemed as though she had.

He should have known it would be Rory that would ask the obvious question.

"Do you think she's still alive?"

The Doctor's jaw clenched.

Survivor of the Time War or no, it made no difference.

She had been trapped.

The escape pods would be inoperable without power.

The Daleks outnumbered her one hundred to one.

She would have had nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

The question went unanswered.

* * *

Rory appeared even more ghostly under the florescent bulbs of the TARIDS infirmary.

Amy watched, afghan draped over her shoulders, as The Doctor rummaged through a cupboard until he found what looked to be standard white gauze.

"Nano-patches," he said, rolling them out for his companions' benefit. "There are tiny little microorganisms living within the lining of these wraps. Once they're attached to your skin they'll seep beneath the tissue and immediately begin healing any torn ligaments or muscles. It'll take about an hour before you're functioning like normal again."

The Doctor did most of the work administering the bandages while Amy attempted to keep Rory's leg steady. He was right, they did look like ordinary bandages at first glance but once they were properly wrapped around Rory's swollen leg they glowed faintly. Through it all Rory tried to put on a brave face in spite of his obvious discomfort. He only cried out once when Amy accidentally pulled his leg too far out.

Amy could not get over how relieved she was that he was okay. Yes, he had cheated death more times than she could count, but this time felt different for some reason.

There was something she was missing.

She hadn't challenged The Doctor's theory that her inferior "human brain" had simply locked away any traumatic memory she'd experienced, but she knew there must be more to it than that.

She was Amy Pond. She'd remembered The Doctor back from non-existence, she must be able to remember something as simple as this.

A relaxed sigh eased from her husband's mouth, derailing her train of thought. His skin, although waxy with sweat, was returning to a healthy pink.

Amy wiped the moisture from his head with her sleeve and smiled. "How's that for modern medicine, Mr. Pond?"

His eyes twinkled with humor in spite of himself. "If it's all the same, I prefer Leadworth General."

She laughed, sparing a look towards The Doctor. However, the smile quickly faded as soon as she saw the somber furrow of her best friend's brow. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he flitted out of the room leaving his friends stupefied in his wake.

Amy made to go after him, only to remember her husband, injured and weak in bed. When she turned to face him, he met her gaze with a calm, level stare.

"Go," he said.

She gave him a parting kiss on the lips before letting her blanket fall to the floor and following her imaginary friend into the hall.

"Doctor?" she asked his retreating form.

"Stay with Rory," he commanded without looking at her.

Annoyed, she quickened her gait until she was able to fall in step with the stubborn Time Lord.

"Doctor, where are you going?" she demanded.

"I have to find her," he retorted, not breaking stride.

Amy silently gave thanks for her long legs, otherwise she'd never be able to keep up with him. Especially not now that he was so determined not to be followed.

"Doctor, you don't have to do this alone. Let us help you. Doctor!"

The Doctor geared to a halt, nearly causing Amy to crash straight into him.

He whirled around, eyes glowing with rage.

"I should never have come back for you," he snapped.

Amy paused, waiting for him to take it back, but his gaze held hers unflinchingly. A weight settled at the bottom of her stomach and she felt sick with dread.

Against her will, the beginning of tears pooled in her eyes.

"You don't mean that," she whispered. "You can't."

She'd known for some time he'd been trying to ween them off of him. Making the gaps in between his visits longer and longer, little by little. But hearing all her fears spoken out loud, she couldn't stand it.

How could he? After everything they'd been to each other? They prepared a table for him at Christmas. He was married to their daughter for God's sake! How could he just leave them? Leave _her_?

"After Demons Run I should have left you in Leadworth where you belong." The Doctor swallowed thickly. "But I was selfish. I thought if I took you somewhere remote, somewhere safe, that nothing could go wrong. And look what happened."

Amy shook her head incredulously. "Doctor, we _wanted_ to come with you. We've always wanted to come with you."

"Of course you did," he said bitterly. "A man offers you the universe and all of space and time besides, how are you supposed to say no? Then off you go, getting yourself hurt or killed."

The Doctor suddenly paled at the thought, all vehement energy lost in an instant. He worried his bottom lip contemplatively between his teeth and seemingly struggled for the right words. After holding her gaze for ages, he finally worked up the courage to speak in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Amy, dozens of people on this ship are dead because of me. I should have gotten everyone safely aboard the TARDIS, but I didn't. Because I wanted to be clever."

"Doctor—"

"She was a Time Lord, Amy, a real living Time Lord." Tears brightened his eyes as he spoke. "The last child of Gallifrey and I couldn't keep her alive for one bloody hour."

The sorrow in his voice broke Amy's heart. He didn't deserve this pain and loneliness. Didn't deserve any of it.

"You don't know that," she argued. "She could still be alive. If we survived, it's possible she might have done, too."

"No one could live through a Dalek incursion on that scale. How you and Rory did…" He shook his head stubbornly. "It's nothing short of preposterous."

"What happened to you being the " _dreamer of impossible dreams_ "?" she demanded.

"Improbable," he amended softly, "not impossible."

"Doctor, you told me no one could have survived the Time War except you, but _she did_. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Deep lines formed under his eyes and his shoulder slumped downwards in defeat. It seemed that every decade, every century he'd lived was leaving a mark on his face. His eyes, usually so kind and joyful, now swam with exhaustion and misery.

"Amy, please don't make this more difficult than it already is. Please, it's already so, so hard."

Amy could take it no longer and engulfed him in a deep hug. At first he bristled at the contact, not wanting to let her in any more than he had to. But eventually, he wrapped his own arms around her slender body, trembling imperceptibly.

"You can't just give her up for dead," she spoke into his ear. "Not when she's already been through so much. I know it hurts more to hope, but she needs you. "

She broke their embrace to look him straight in the eye so he'd have no choice but to take her seriously.

"Now let's go out there and bring her back."

"Pond…"

" _Doctor_ ," she countered, slipping past him before he could protest further. "Come on, Raggedy Man, we've got a Time Lady to save."

* * *

 _Hours earlier_ …

Gil was sweating like a pig in a slaughter house as he clomped down the stairs two at a time, drunk off the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

From all sides, his crews were being slaughtered, their screams chasing him through the lower levels of the ship.

Gil cursed their incompetence.

He and Flash had their Church training to fall back on, but the rest of the lot were just street brawlers with fancy toys. They knew how to scrap, but when it came time to act as a unit in the face of an organized enemy they had no more idea what to do than chimps with bazookas.

They'd burst out of the bridge guns blazing, roaring and charging through the ship as if they could tear the metal bastards apart with their bare hands; an army of white blood cells against a virus. Yet they all fell one by one, their bullets ineffective.

They hadn't gotten in a hit. Not one bloody hit.

In the end, even Flash's advanced training had only spared him an extra ten minutes before he was cut down, dead before his body hit the ground.

Gil ignored the pang in his chest. Like the prick of a syringe needle, there and then gone, at the sight of his fallen comrade. If he'd been another man, he would have been devastated. His constant companion throughout all these years, dead and gone.

But Gil Bellamy wasn't a normal bloke. He was a survivor; a man who always got his catch.

The girl was the only thing that mattered.

An energy blast sent a shutter through the ship and he went sprawling as a low dirge broke through the chaos. When he reopened his eyes, his world was blanketed by darkness. His head was banging like a bleeding drum and for a moment he wondered if he'd been kicked clear into the next century.

The Daleks caterwauling had stopped, as had the death knells of his crew. The only sound he could make out was the chugging of his battered heart. Grunting painfully, he flipped himself over onto his front, ignoring his aching back. He patted the front of his uniform for the emergency torch light and, within seconds, his suit lit up.

It was barely enough for him to see a foot or so ahead of him. It was meant to be used as a hand's free option in case a breaker went out, not a primary source of light when the whole blood ship had gone dark.

He cursed.

The bastards must have cut the power.

No power, no escape pods.

No escape pods, no way out.

Gil pounded the deck with his fist. A move he instantly regretted as the whirring of wheels stole his attention. Icy dread quenched the fires of his wrath and he hugged the wall to the best of his ability, patting the front of his suit to turn off the light.

The whirring drew nearer, bringing with it faint trickles of illumination that made it just possible for Gil to see their shadows thrown up against the wall in front of him.

He pressed against the wall tighter to avoid being seen.

If they detected him, he'd have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" one demanded in a grating voice. "EXPLAIN!"

"I HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH ALL DALEKS FROM SECTORS FIVE AND SIX!" another proclaimed in a much lower register. "THEIR MENTAL SIGNATURES ARE NO LONGER PRESENT ON THE NEURAL PATHWEB!"

"IMPOSSIBLE! THEY HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN ORDERS TO DEACTIVATE! THE TIME LORD IS STILL AT LARGE!"

"AFFIRMATIVE! ORDERS TO EXTRACT THE TIME LORD MUST BE EXECUTED! ALERT! I HAVE DETECTED MORE DALEK DE-ACTIVATIONS ALONG THIS LEVEL!"

 _De-activating_? Gil thought. _What the hell could de-activate a—_

 _"_ THE HUMANS ARE LAUNCHING COUNTERMEASURES! EXTERMINATE THEM!"

"HUMANOID BEING DETECTED!"

"EXTERMINATE!" they proclaimed, discharging their weapons. "EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINAAAAAAAAAA—"

The Daleks howled in concert a cacophony of anguish until their screams were interrupted by a wet ripping noise.

Gil heard a _Thunk!_ like the sound of raw meat being thrown into a metal canister.

The lights of the Dalek's metal domes snuffed out.

Blackness.

Gil was rooted to the spot, listening hard.

 _What happened? What the hell had happened?_

It was as quiet as an abandoned church. Maddening. He longed for the humming of the engines, the beeping of controls, the pounding of footsteps against the metal deck. Bleeding _anything_.

The captain tried to quell his shallow breathing to no avail. His body was geyser of energy, just waiting to explode.

He wouldn't stay crouch in the dark like a bleeding toddler. This was his ship. It might be damaged, but he'd be damned if he was going to let anything kill him on his own vessel.

Bolstered by his anger, he felt along the walls with a gloved hand until he found a groove where the hall emptied out into the mess hall.

"Who's there?!" he demanded, holding his position.

No answer.

"Tell me who you are, or I'll light you up like a house on fire!"

He didn't know if he was going barmy, but he thought he heard just the tiniest hint of shuffling from a few feet away.

 _Here it goes. Now or never._

Gil fired up his suit so he had something to part the tides of darkness, and he stepped out, exposing his position, weapon raised.

The Daleks came into relief as solitary as museum pieces.

The captain huffed and puffed, a quiet noise amplified by the lack of movement elsewhere on the ship.

A shadow swept by in the corner of his eyes and he turned, barrel raised and ready to fire.

"I mean it!" he thundered. "Come out or else I'll pump you so full of lead you'll look-!"

His rifle flew out of his hands, slamming thunderously against the floor.

Gil was hoisted into the air by an invisible snare, gagging and choking and kicking the air in futility as the unseen force clasped its hands around his throat. The ship's captain clawed at his windpipe to dislodge whatever it was, but his fingers could find nothing.

Black dots speckled his vision. His head swam from lack of oxygen. All the while, his body was raised, higher and higher, as if a vengeful angel were drawing him up.

In an instant, he was plummeting head-over-arse to the deck below.

His bones crunched on impact. Heat and pain spread through him like an oil spill.

He gasped, attempting to fill himself with precious air, only to find himself choking on hot blood. The taste of copper flooded his throat. A piercing pain in his side clued him in. One of his ribs had broken and buried itself in a lung like a knife.

His vision was eclipsed by a woman, her shoulders pinned back and chin raised in a defiant stance. Long brown hair framed her diamond-shaped face. The sleeve of her crimson dress had been ripped and the bodice was stained, but she held herself with as much dignity as one wearing the finest robes.

Like a bleeding queen.

No, he realized with pain-filled hysteria.

She wasn't a woman.

She was _The Girl._

The Gallifreyan regarded him coldly, hands clasped together in front of her.

The shallow wheezing emanating from his collapsing vocal cords were the only protests he could offer as his body convulsed with hot trails of blood ran down his cheeks.

Her hand reached out and pantomimed grasping. His heart stopped beating. The delicate muscle collapsed like a rotting apple as she squeezed.

Her face disappeared into a shroud of blackness.

Oblivion embraced him.

* * *

 **Hey guys! I'm so, so sorry to keep you guys waiting...again. Please know that I've been working on this fic for months and months, trying to fix it up. I was going to polish it even more, but I'm honestly tired of looking at it. I think my perfectionism is getting in the way so I'm just going to leave it here for you guys to (hopefully) enjoy. I was going to break this chapter up into two parts originally, but I thought you guys had waited long enough. _Has it really almost been a year? Seriously?_ I appreciate all of you guys for your wonderful feedback. You guys are the best and I really appreciate you! Please, if you liked this chapter (and even if you didn't), leave a comment and tell me what you thought. **


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